Distorted
by HoistTheColours
Summary: Everything's not what it seems. Joker/Harley.
1. Chapter 1

**Distorted**

She hated him.

She hated him with all the passion and fervor that a small child could muster. Everything about him drove her crazy. The way his lips would so infuriatingly curve into that arrogant, knowing smirk, the way his impossibly dark brown eyes glimmered fiercely from beneath dark, long lashes. She hated the way he cocked his head to the side and brazenly stared at her in that cold, calculating manner, as if sizing her up, as if silently suggesting to her that she wasn't _good enough_. She hated everything about him, right down to the tiny freckles that were scattered across the bridge of his nose.

He had been ten years-old at the time and she only eight. His family was moving into the house next-door, something she had initially been looking forward to, excited over the prospect of meeting the new neighbors and possibly making a friend. She only hoped that the new family had a girl her age. With no siblings and no friends other than the very few she had at school, she was desperate for someone to play and interact with.

On the day of their new neighbor's intended move, she woke up bright and early, disappointed to find that it was raining and had thus hindered her from going outside. After she had gulped down her breakfast as quickly as possible, she jumped down from the barstool at the counter and raced into the living room. Cassie, her thirteen year-old babysitter, followed behind her at a bit more leisurely pace, plopping herself down on the couch and turning on the television. Since it was only seven in the morning, there really wasn't much on other than infomercials and the local news, so she settled for watching a reality show on MTV that wasn't very appropriate for either of them.

Not that Harley was watching anyway. Eagerly, she climbed onto the bench beneath the windowsill and pressed her hands against the glass pane, watching for any activity next door. The only thing that had changed from yesterday was that there was a navy blue pick-up truck sitting in the driveway.

"What're you looking at?" Cassie wondered aloud, fighting back a yawn.

"The new neighbors are supposed to move in today," she explained without turning around. She transfixed her eyes on the house next door, not wanting to miss even the slightest movement should one occur.

Behind her, Cassie snorted. "They moved in at like, three in the morning, Harley." She kept her gaze fixed on the television as the small girl turned around to stare at her. "Didn't you hear them last night? There was lots of yelling and banging around and stuff. I think the dad was wasted or something."

"Are you sure?" Harley's tiny voice piqued.

"Of course I'm sure. I live six houses down the street and I _still_ heard it."

"Oh."

Harley wasn't exactly sure what "wasted" meant, but she had a pretty good idea after having been to a friend's birthday party and watching firsthand as Caroline's dad stumbled around on the back deck with his friends, laughing raucously and smoking cigarettes. Caroline had whispered to the girls that their dads were "getting drunk." Harley's own father hadn't been present at the time so she couldn't know for sure what it meant, but she began to wonder if the new neighbors had been doing the same thing last night.

Disappointed that she had slept through all the ruckus, she turned around and sighed against the window, watching as her breath fogged the glass. She decided that she was still determined to keep watch regardless that she had missed their move, so she propped her elbows onto the sill and let out another dramatic sigh, secretly hoping Cassie would notice her distress and ask what was wrong.

When she didn't, Harley moped and slumped against the window seat for the remainder of the morning, watching as small drops of rain raced down the window pane, tracing the droplets with her finger as they slid against the glass.

Later in the afternoon and after much protest, Cassie finally managed to pull her away from the window for her nap. After Cassie had tucked her into her bed and closed the door, Harley pushed away the covers and, after much strenuous effort, scooted her heavy wooden toy chest beneath the window. Carefully, she crawled up onto it and continued staring. She refused to leave her perch until she had at least caught a glimpse of one of the family members. She might have missed all the excitement of their move, but she was still desperate to know if the new family had a daughter her age that she could play with.

As she sat at the window, she imagined a girl with long, straight brown hair—like her mother's—and pretty green eyes. The two of them would become fast friends after meeting, and Harley began to picture all the fun things they'd do together. They could have tea parties and play tag at the park, search for cool bugs in their backyards and ride bikes down the street. They could bake cookies and play dress-up, build snowmen during the wintertime, and color with chalk on the sidewalk in the summer.

Harley's daydreamed fantasy was perfect, and she thought that she couldn't have imagined a better one if she tried. She desperately needed a friend, and she was already certain that the new neighbors next door would provide one.

She loved her parents and wanted to spend time with them also, but they rarely were at home since the two of them had high-profile jobs in the city. Her father was a respected lawyer and her mother worked in the senator's office. Since there wasn't much time for them to do anything else, Harley spent most of her days with a babysitter, even on the weekends.

It never occurred to Harley that the new neighbors might be an older couple, or perhaps it was a single adult who didn't have any kids, but she refused to relinquish her hopes until she had absolute proof of the matter.

Later that afternoon, she was surprised when her mother arrived home early from work. The small girl eagerly bounded down the stairs to meet her as she was putting away her umbrella. She tugged on her mother's arm with breathless excitement.

"Mommy, can we meet the new neighbors today? Please?"

"Well hello to you too." Sharon patted her daughter on the head and then took a second look at Harley, a crease forming between her perfectly arched brows. "Darling, you know I don't like it when you wear your hair like that."

Harley self-consciously tugged at one of her pigtails, twirling it around her finger as she bit her lip. "Sorry."

A few minutes later, after Cassie had left, Harley followed her mother into the kitchen, her earlier question still left unanswered. She hovered nearby as Sharon began pulling out papers from her briefcase and laid them onto the table.

"How was your day, sweetie?" She didn't glance at her daughter as she perched her reading glasses on the tip of her nose.

Harley studied her mother closely as Sharon paid her no mind, only half listening to Harley's eventual response. Her gray, pinstripe skirt fit snugly as did its matching jacket, and her glossy brown hair was pulled into a tight, smooth bun. Her makeup had been applied with the utmost precision and her dark, mascara-coated lashes fluttered like butterfly wings from behind her reading glasses. She looked every bit the perfect, successful business woman; regal, polished, and poised. Harley only hoped to one day look as beautiful as she thought her mother did. She loathed her limp, blonde hair and cool, icy blue eyes—genes she had inherited from her father.

Distracted momentarily, she forgot her mother's previous question and repeated her earlier one instead. "Mommy, can we go meet the new neighbors today?"

Her mother's pen faltered and she paused, sighing ever-so-slightly through her nose. Harley's mother didn't lose her cool, and her face seemed always to be a pallet of only one emotion. It was a moment before she replied. "Harleen, sweetie," she began slowly, "I don't really think that'd be a good idea."

Harley's face fell. "Why not?" she whined.

Sharon measured her reply carefully, removing her reading glasses from their perch on her nose. She'd heard the new neighbors yelling at each other quite violently all throughout the early hours of the morning, and she was certain that the father had even been intoxicated at the time. She found the overall situation rather distasteful and uncouth, and she didn't particularly want to go over and meet this new family. She was already certain she knew what kind of people they were, anyway. The neighborhood they lived in tended to attract families on lower-income, families which usually entailed a slew of alcoholics, poor, single mothers, abusive fathers, and troubled teenagers, among other stereotypes she wasn't the least bit fond of.

She kept these thoughts to herself though and lied instead. "I'm too busy at the moment, darling. I have paperwork to do, you know that."

"You're _always_ doing paperwork," mumbled Harley in response. When Sharon turned away to glance back over her work, Harley buried her face into her mother's side, whining. "_Please_, mommy? I wanna make new friends."

"Harleen, I said _no_."

The small girl huffed exasperatedly and folded her arms across her chest, stomping off into the living room as loudly as she could. She flopped herself onto the window seat with a frown and rested her head in her hands.

It was like this every day. Her mother would come home from work, (though usually at a much later time,) and bury herself in her paperwork—or a fashion magazine, when she knew no one was looking. And if it wasn't that, she'd be on the phone for hours on end, claiming to her daughter that it was a "business call" when Harley knew she was really talking to one of her girl friends. She wasn't stupid.

Her father, on the other hand, (who was home considerably less than her mother,) would lock himself in his study with a book and a bottle of wine. Harley would beg him to play board games with her, kindly request his attention when she wanted to model her dress-up clothes, and ask him to read her a bedtime story—but nothing would tear his gaze away from whatever it was he happened to be doing. He scarcely even spared her a second glance.

Desperate for his attention but knowing she wouldn't receive any, she resolved to simply spending time with him, even if that time was spent in utter silence on his part. She'd sit in the leather, overstuffed chair in front of his desk while he sat behind it, biting on the tip of his glasses as he read. Harley would stare up at the ceiling and tell him about her day, hoping for a response but never obtaining one as she rambled on about the bullies in the neighborhood and how some of the boys were always pulling on her pigtails or pinching her arm. Her father had once interjected, addressing her in the masculine, business-like tone that he always spoke in, and suggested to her that perhaps the boys only teased her because they thought she was pretty—but Harley vehemently denied the notion and that was the last he spoke of the matter.

She was still sulking in her own misfortunes when something outside from the house next door suddenly caught her eye. Swallowed within the confines of a huge, oversized jacket was a small body trudging down the front steps. Harley watched, fascinated, as the figure plodded down the sidewalk in the pouring rain, seemingly oblivious of its surroundings. She craned her head to see further as the figure began to abscond from her field of vision, but the last she saw of the mysterious stranger was when it disappeared near the bus stop at the end of the street. Harley swallowed, barely able to contain her excitement. Was this the new friend she had been desperately waiting to meet? Was this the girl who would become her best friend? Was it even a girl to begin with? And why was this person walking all alone and in the rain?

Her mother would never approve of such a thing, Harley knew. She wasn't allowed to go outside unless there was an adult with her. In her neighborhood, it just wasn't safe. But at the moment, Harley could care less what her mother thought. She raced up the stairs and tore open her closet, tugging on her daisy-yellow rain boots and matching coat. As she crept down the stairs, listening carefully for her mother, the sound of laughter floated from within the study. _Probably making another one of her "business calls," _she bitterly thought.

She quietly opened the front door and stepped out into the torrent of rain, shielding her face from the sudden onslaught. It was coming down a lot harder than she thought. She was determined not to give up though, and so she pulled her jacket tighter around her small frame and raced down the sidewalk towards the bus stop. Her shoes squeaked nosily with every step as she splashed down the sidewalk, but she just hoped that the stranger hadn't gone too far else she wouldn't be able to catch up with them.

As she neared—breathless from her run with strands of hair plastered to her forehead—her heart began to drum faster within her chest, anticipation coursing through her. There, lying just ahead, was the bus shelter, a small, white building that was littered with colorful graffiti.

What if they were sitting inside there, waiting for the bus? Her breath quickened at the mere thought of being so close.

This was it, the moment she had been waiting for ever since she had found out that her old neighbors were moving away. She hurried closer, smiling to herself in the rain. Her heart thudded anxiously in her chest, the sweet anticipation almost too much to bear.

And then... it was over.

Beneath the bus shelter, Harley's smile faded into a disappointed frown. It wasn't a girl, but a _boy_, and in that moment, her hopes were completely dashed.

Slowly, the stranger raised his head, looking up at her blankly through a mop of curly blond hair. Harley's stomach dropped into the pit of her stomach then, and for a moment, she was without breath.

The boy, who was clearly a few years older than herself, had a thin, gaunt face, his lips pulled tight into a deep frown. His eyes—a deep, troubled brown—looked as if they had seen all the horrors of the world and then some.

She let her gaze roam lower, taking in his lanky frame. He looked tall, even while sitting down. Harley dared a small step closer as the stranger began to eye her with a bit more interest.

"Hi," she said softly, a little unsure of herself. She swallowed, not sure why she was felt so shy and timid. It wasn't like her at all, and she wondered why she found it so hard to form words. Pushing back a strand of hair, she summoned the courage to speak. "My name's Harley." She bit her lower lip and waited for the stranger to respond.

But he never did. He simply eyed her disheveled appearance with a blank expression, the space behind his eyes entirely empty. His gaze roamed over her flushed cheeks, soaking wet hair, and drooping pigtails, lastly settling on her bright blue eyes that were blinking at him from beneath wet lashes. She bowed her head to the pavement under his scrutiny, feeling her cheeks turn pink when he continued to stare at her.

Since he hadn't spoken, Harley decided to try again. She swirled the toe of her boot in a small puddle that had gathered beneath the bus shelter.

"I'm your next-door neighbor," she explained. "My house is the one with the red car in the driveway." She turned around so she could point it out to him but was disappointed to find that she was farther away from it than she had thought. "You can't see it from here, though," she trailed off uncertainly, not sure what to say next. The boy was a good few years older than her, that much was obvious, and Harley got the feeling he didn't want to talk to her. Even so, she summoned the hope that had buried itself deep within her chest and dared to ask one more question. "Do you have a little sister?"

Slowly, the boy shook his head, his eyes still not leaving hers.

"Oh."

Harley gulped and felt her hopes collapse like a wilted flower. Why did everything always turn out against her favor? She didn't understand it. She had wanted a best friend _so_ badly. In her small, naive scope of the world, it felt like everything and everyone was against her. She had never felt so utterly alone.

Everything was ruined now. Nothing had gone the way she had expected it to and she felt crushed. She was convinced that now she'd never make a best friend. Nobody on the street was her age—save for the rowdy boys who always ignored her and only wanted to play with themselves—and she had never fit in with the girls at school.

They teased her about her appearance, excluded her from their games at recess, and rolled their eyes whenever she tried to speak to them. She could never have realized it at the time, but her personality didn't match her stereotype. She grew up in a wealthy family, but didn't live in the suburbs of Gotham. She didn't attend any of the father-daughter charity balls, didn't have roles in any of the school plays, and her parents never took her to any school functions. She was an outsider by all means, but most of all, an easy target for the other girls to pick on.

She cautiously slumped down onto the bench next to the boy, brushing her pigtails over her shoulders as he watched her from the corner of his eye. She scooted back so her legs were dangling above the ground, her boots dripping with excess rain. They two of them sat in silence for a considerable amount of time, but Harley was never one to keep quiet for long.

"Do you talk?" She turned her head to peer at the boy next to her, who hadn't moved an inch since she had sat down.

"_You_ talk too much." He turned to face her as well and Harley was startled by the sound of his voice. It was deep—too deep, and he sounded ten times older than what he appeared to be. He was like a man trapped inside a boy's body, and had Harley realized this at the time, she would have run away without another thought.

But she didn't.

Pulling the sleeves of her jacket up to her elbows, she studied the boy carefully. "Well, what's your name then?"

"Jack."

Harley bit her lower lip, pondering. Jack was a nice enough name, she thought. She had never met any Jacks before, save for her uncle, but she never really saw him much. Since she attended an all-girls private school, she didn't know any boys from there, obviously, and never got the chance to interact with them much outside of school. Maybe Jack could be her first friend who was a boy?

Twisting her hands in her lap, she stared up at the sky. She hadn't even realized it had stopped raining. A group of geese squawked noisily in the milky gray overcast above, and she watched them until they disappeared from sight.

"Do you... do you wanna be best friends with me?"

Jack replied in an instant, startling her.

"_No_."

Harley was taken aback by his blunt reply and she clearly let it show, her nose scrunching in distaste. "Why not?"

Jack didn't respond, choosing instead to stare at the drooping telephone wires that lined the street. Harley folded her arms and pouted with an exasperated huff. She was starting to not like Jack, not at all. He was being awfully rude and she didn't understand why. She stole a sideways glance over at him only to see that he was now staring in the opposite direction. This left his face open to her perusal, and Harley was intrigued when she spied a small, y-shaped scar on his lower lip. She was surprised she hadn't noticed it before since it was so obvious. The scar was crusted over in a deep shade of red—dried _blood_, she realized. She stared at the strange scar unabashedly. The sudden urge to reach out her hand and run the tips of her fingers over his lower lip was overwhelmingly strong. She yearned to feel the puckered flesh there.

Slowly, she determined to do just that.

Jack's hand shot out faster than she could have ever thought humanly possible, and he captured her small wrist in a vice while Harley stared at him in terror. If she thought his eyes were dark before, they were absolutely black now, a color so deep and fathomless she thought she would drown. She cried out weakly and tried to pull away, but he only tightened his grip and pulled her closer, bringing her face mere inches from his own.

She could smell him, now that she was so close. He was a mixture of sweat, wood, and smoke, an odd scent that Harley didn't understand. She crinkled her nose in distaste but was too terrified to look away.

"_Go. Home_," he ground out in a voice far too mature to belong to someone his age, his mouth pulled into a deep frown. Roughly, he let go of her wrist and she toppled to the ground in her struggle to pull away, landing in a puddle. She gasped and let out a small cry when her arm scraped against the side of the curb, but Jack didn't move to help her. She struggled to hold back tears as she stared up at him through blurry eyes, mud smeared against the side of her face.

Too scared to scream at him in anger, she scrambled to her feet, holding her bleeding arm, and took off down the sidewalk. She cast a glance over her shoulder only to see Jack staring after her... _smiling_.

When she returned home, crying and out of breath, she immediately flew up the stairs. The bathroom door shut in the hallway with a bang and she collapsed against it, gasping hard and blinking back her tears. When she had caught her breath, she stared down at her arm, crying even harder when she saw how much it was bleeding.

Carefully, she stood and peeled off her raincoat, letting it fall to the floor. Her small chest heaving in panic, she grabbed a washcloth from the sink and dabbed her arm with it. She was horrified to find that it wouldn't stop the bleeding, however, and she let out a wail of pain and frustration just as her mother knocked on the door.

"Harleen? What's the matter with you?" she asked brusquely. "Why are the steps out here so muddy? You unlock the door this instant."

With a sob, Harley opened the door and stared up at her mother through the tangled strands of hair plastered to her face and her blurred tears. Spots of blood were trickled on the floor and the bath rugs, and Harley's muddy raincoat lay next to the toilet.

When Sharon's eyes landed on Harley's arm, her mouth opened in a silent gasp.

"My God, Harley, what have you done?"

* * *

Harley was good at lying, always had been. She had once blamed the family dog (who had since passed away) in a moment of panic when her mother realized that her favorite makeup brushes had gone missing. Harley explained that Toby had snuck into her parent's bathroom and jumped up onto the counter and ate them. Her mother was easily convinced of the story, and later that night Harley retrieved the stained brushes from her art box and buried them deep in the trash. They hadn't made very good paintbrushes for her art easel, anyway.

Harley was so good at lying, in fact, that it was no surprise that she was able to convince her mother that the gash on her arm was because she had slipped in a puddle and fallen on the curb. The story was partially true, she _had_ fallen on the curb; she just hadn't explained to her mother that the new neighbor boy, Jack, was the one who had pushed her there.

In truth, she was scared to tattletale on him. She didn't want her mother to get upset, tell her father, and then have him go over and talk to Jack. Nick was angered easily, and he sometimes acted rashly and on impulse. It was a rare occurrence, but his calm, cool, and collected demeanor could shatter in only an instant if he was angered enough.

After her mother had driven her to the emergency room for stitches, they returned home where Harley was sent to her room for leaving the house without permission. After her mother had closed the door, Harley spit her tongue out in silent defiance and then trudged towards her bed, flopping down on it after kicking off her boots. She stared up at the ceiling while her newly-bandaged arm lay across her stomach, watching as the colorful mobile above her bed spun in slow, lazy circles.

Her thoughts drifted to Jack and she reflected on how much she despised him. He had refused her request to be friends and then had pushed her into the curb. She hated him for giving her stitches, but most of all she hated him for not wanting to be friends with her. Was something wrong with her? None of the girls at school liked her and only ever wanted to tease her, and Jack apparently despised her. Was it something she had said? Was there something wrong with the way she looked? Was it the way she did her hair? Maybe she was just ugly, like all the girls at school whispered behind her back.

With that final weight resting on her mind, she cried herself to sleep and slept the rest of the evening away.

* * *

The rest of spring break went without incident. Harley returned to her all-girls boarding school the following Monday, and life entered the same old routine. Since Cassie had softball practice after school during the weekdays, Harley spent her time after school with an elderly woman who lived only a few blocks down the street.

Miss Lenora was gentle and kind, and Harley enjoyed being with her. The two of them would spend hours in her backyard together, playing in her garden or watering the flowers while Miss Lenora taught Harley all their appropriate names. She had one of the most beautiful gardens Harley had ever seen. There were white trellises (which Harley had helped paint,) with pink roses crawling up its sides, immaculately trimmed bushes, and scattered all throughout the garden were some of the prettiest flowers she had ever laid eyes on. Bright yellow daises, cherry blossoms, calla lilies, blue bells, lantanas, and stunning, red and orange ixoras all helped to fill the lush, colorful landscape.

Miss Lenora was her closest friend, and Harley viewed her as the grandmother she never had but had always wanted. She helped Harley with her homework, cooked dinner for her, and let her sleep in her guestroom on the nights when her parents would be working especially late. She was more of a mother figure than Harley's own mother had ever been, and it was in times of despair and loneliness that Harley would sneak away from home to visit Miss Lenora. Her warmth and liveliness was contagious, and it usually took only a hug and a kiss from her to cheer Harley up.

Other times, when Harley was especially sad, she'd cradle Harley while the small girl cried in her arms. Miss Lenora would assure her that everything would be okay, that her mother and father did love her but couldn't be with her all the time because they had important jobs.

Harley knew Miss Lenora was right, but she still harbored feelings of resentment in her heart towards her parents. Which was why, on Saturday, when the two of them were both miraculously home for the day, Harley didn't want to have anything to do with them.

This was, of course, decided _after_ she had tried countless times to get their attention. Harley's mother had spent all morning in the bathroom, preparing for an outing with her friends. Harley's father was in his study, as usual, and he didn't answer her when she requested that he teach her to play catch outside.

"Daddy, please? We never play together." She put her hands on the edge of his desk, (he wouldn't allow her to come behind it,) and gave him her best puppy dog eyes.

When Nick let out a heavy sigh, Harley inwardly cheered, excited that she had gotten a reaction out of him.

"Harleen," he began, and her heart sank. He only called her by her full name when he wasn't in a good mood. "I'm tired. I've been working all week, and I just want to unwind."

With drooping shoulders, she left his study and decided to go outside by herself. The rays from the sun shone brightly as she sat on the porch steps and absently fingered the laces on her sneakers, squinting into the sunlight as she studied the bustling neighborhood. A few houses down from hers, the Gibson's were cleaning out their garage, and directly across the street the neighbor boys had gathered at Allan's house and were playing some kind of game in the front yard.

She stole a glance over into Jack's yard, but it looked the same as it had for the past week, save for the fact that the blue pickup truck was absent from the driveway. They probably weren't home.

Harley let out a sigh as she looked back across the street, wanting more than anything to just _talk_ to someone.

Determinedly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she jumped down from the steps and made her way over to Allan's house. She made sure she looked both ways before crossing the street, (not that it was ever that busy with traffic anyway,) and decided that she was going to make friends with the boys today, even if it killed her.

As she stepped onto the grassy yard which was in desperate need of being cut, all four boys turned towards her.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Allan, ten years-old to Harley's eight, folded his arms across his chest and looked down at her as she stepped closer.

Harley puffed out her chest and pursed her lips, trying to look brave. "I want to play with you," she announced, folding her arms also.

Allan opened his mouth to speak when one of the other boys, Shane, interjected.

"Ewe! What happened to your arm?" he asked in disgust, pointing to the bandage that covered her stitches.

Harley swallowed, feeling uncomfortable. She dropped her arms and hid them behind her back.

"I fell on the curb," she replied quietly.

"Girls are so clumsy!" Thomas, a dark-skinned boy whom Harley had never seen before, cried, spitting out his tongue at her.

Harley wanted to reply with a comment that was equally insulting, but she realized that if she did it would only decrease her chances of becoming friends with the boys. She smartly bit her tongue and chose to ignore Thomas's comment.

"What are you playing?" she asked, eyeing with interest the toy guns they had fashioned out of sticks and fishing string.

"We're playing police officer," Guy, the quietest one of the group, kindly spoke up. His hands were crossed behind his back, shoulders relaxed.

"Yeah, but it's for _boys_. Girls can't play," Thomas sneered.

"Why not? I can be a police girl," Harley insisted.

"Don't worry, Harley, you can play with us," Alan announced, his voice deceptively smooth and cunning, earning a confused look from his three other friends.

"Really?" she chirped, her cheeks already flushing with excitement.

"Yeah," he said, "but _you _can be the bad guy. _We'll_ be the police officers."

"Oh."

Harley wasn't thrilled with the idea, but if that's what it took for her to fit in, then that's what she would do. She would play the villain.

"Well, okay," she shrugged. "Do I get a gun, too?" she asked hopefully.

"You can use mine," Guy said shyly, offering forward the makeshift toy, but as Harley reached for it, Thomas quickly knocked it away.

"She doesn't get one."

The notion didn't bother Harley a bit; she was just excited that the four of them were going to include her in their game.

"What do I do first?" she asked eagerly.

"Well, you have to pretend to do something bad, and then we'll chase you," Allan informed.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

It started out innocently enough at first. The five of them moved into the fenced in backyard where they could use Allan's swing set and its adjoining tree fort as the police station. Harley, across the yard, pretended to rob a convenience store—since that's what all the bad guys did on the cop shows she sometimes watched when Cassie fell asleep—and she announced just as much to the boys.

"Okay, I'm robbing a store!" She bent down and started plucking blades of grass, as if she were picking items that she wanted off the shelves.

"Pow! Pow pow!" The boys imitated the sound of gunshots being fired, and Harley skillfully pretended to dodge them all.

"Hey, I just shot you! You have to fall down!" Shane cried in indignation, but Harley pretended not to hear him.

She spit out her tongue at the red-haired boy and laughed as they all began to chase her around the yard, firing their stick guns. Filled with adrenaline, she fumbled with the latch on the wooden gate and flung it open, racing out into the front yard again as the boys trailed at her heels.

Her laughter was suddenly caught in her throat when someone tackled her from behind, pushing her into the grass. She cried out in surprise and twisted onto her back, staring into the eyes of Allan who was quick to straddle her waist.

"I got her!" he yelled over his shoulder, grinning at her with a cruel upturn of his lips when she began to swing at his chest.

Harley was suddenly aware of how much bigger all the other boys were, especially Allan, the oldest of the group. He was heavy and it hurt. She heard the other boys coming closer and her breath quickened in panic.

"Guy, Shane!" Allan called, "Come here and hold her arms down!"

Shane was quick to respond, kneeling down next to Harley's head and pinning one of her arms to the grass as she struggled furiously.

"Guy, come on! We need help!"

Instead of joining in, Guy stood off to the side and bit his lip as he watched his friends pin Harley to the ground. He didn't want to hurt her. She was pretty and nice, and his mom had always told him never to hurt girls. He looked on in embarrassment, not sure what to do.

"You're such a baby!" Thomas shouted at him as he ran over. He grabbed Harley's other arm and pinned it to the grass.

"Let me go!" she shouted, wrestling for all she was worth. She kicked her legs into the ground, but it didn't usurp Allan from his perch.

"You're so weak, Harley." Allan sneered. "Come on, fight back! What's the matter? Too weak to play with the _boys_?"

Harley closed her eyes and let her head fall to the grass, letting out a shrill scream that was quickly muffled by Allan's palm.

As she writhed in earnest, the boys laughed at her, tugging on her pigtails as Allan sneered in her face.

"Stop it!" she cried. "I don't want to play anymore!" She screamed from behind Allan's hand, but when the boys didn't listen and their laughter only increased, Harley began to cry.

She hated herself for it, for not being strong enough to play with the boys, but she didn't stop fighting through her tears, even as they slid down her cheeks and Shane and Thomas continued to tug on her pigtails and shower her hair with grass.

When Allan grabbed her jaw, she screamed and turned her head to the side, tasting dirt on her lips and feeling sharp blades of grass cut into her cheek. She gave one final scream into the dirt and closed her eyes, expecting the worst.

Allan's weight, though, was torn away from her before he could strike and she heard him topple to the ground.

Breathing hard, her eyes fluttered open and she squinted against the blinding rays of the sun, staring into the face of her savior.

Harley's cheeks were flushed from crying and dirt was smudged around her jaw where her tears had trailed. Blades of grass had ruthlessly been dumped on her hair and her clothes were disheveled and wrinkled. Jack took all of this in as he pulled Harley out of the grass and to her feet, fuzzy black dots momentarily blurring her vision. She wobbled as Jack maintained his grip on her upper arm, not saying a word.

"Hey! Who are _you_?" Thomas demanded.

Jack, Harley noticed, was taller and probably older than all four of the boys, something that should have relieved her but only made her feel more terrified. She looked up into his face, squinting as the sun provided a glowing hallow behind his head. He looked down at her, strangely devoid of any emotion.

When he glanced back up, he locked eyes with Allan, giving him the same look he'd just given Harley; a silent warning.

And then, he was gripping her arm with bruising force, pulling her after him and towards the street.

"Hey, where are you going? We were just playing!" Shane called after them, but Jack would have none of it. He didn't even look over his shoulder.

The boys began to mutter amongst themselves, wondering who Jack was as Shane began to worry that they were all going to get in trouble. When Harley looked over her shoulder, she watched as Guy disappeared inside Allan's house, covering his face and ultimately, his tears.

She hung her head in shame and disappointment, wiping her eyes and further smudging the dirt on her face as Jack all but dragged her across the street. She cried out when she scraped her knees against the asphalt of the driveway.

"Ow! Slow down!"

But Jack didn't stop until he had dragged her up her porch steps, by which time he more than willingly released his grip.

Without saying a word, he began to descend the stairs, but Harley angrily grabbed onto the back of his shirt, stopping him.

He whirled around to face her, eyes livid, and Harley stumbled back a lit, her bravado shaken but not lost.

"Why did you _do_ that?" she cried. "Now they'll _never_ let me play with them again!

"They were trying to _hurt_ you," Jack managed through gritted teeth. His voice was quiet, and even despite the fact that Harley was so warm, goose bumps rose over her arms and legs.

She opened her mouth to retort but was cut shut when the screen door behind her squeaked open and her dad stood in the doorway.

"Harleen, what on earth are you yelling about?"

Her father stopped short when he noticed Harley's appearance, and she could only hang her head in embarrassment and cover her eyes. It wasn't because she was so dirty and disheveled, but rather because her father had just used her full name in front of Jack. She felt her cheeks burn in anger when she slid one her fingers out of the way so she could peek at Jack, noticing a smirk tugging at his lips.

Anger boiled within her and she screamed. "I hate you, Jack! I hate you and I never want to see you again!" For good measure, she stuck her tongue out at him before storming past her father in the doorway and bounding up the stairs. All was silent until the sound of her door slamming made her father grimace. Nick buried his face in his hands in exasperation, pushing back his hair.

"Look, I'm really sorry. Harley's a bit—" when he looked up again, he realized that the boy was gone. "Temperamental."

* * *

When Sharon returned home later that night from her outing, she knocked on Harley's door to show her the new dress she had bought for her. Harley, however, lay on her bed and was staring up at the ceiling in barely contained fury, refusing to unlock her door and shouting to her mother to "go away."

When Sharon questioned her husband about Harley's behavior, he briefly explained to her what Harley had said to the neighbor boy, and Sharon was outraged. She held herself with class and dignity, and Harley's little temper tantrums were embarrassing, to say the least. She only hoped that none of the other neighbors had seen the incident.

When Harley awoke the next morning, she wasn't too surprised to find Miss Lenora in the living room; Cassie almost always had softball games on Sunday and could never babysit on that day. The television set was off and Miss Lenora was knitting contently. She sat in the rocking chair by the window that nobody ever used, humming a soft tune that was as sweet as honey to Harley's ears.

When she jumped off the last stair and landed on the living room carpet, Miss Lenora's knitting paused and she looked down her nose where her glasses were perched, smiling when she saw her favorite little girl. Her hair was done up in pigtails and she had dressed herself in a short-sleeved pink shirt and blue-jean overalls.

"Well good morning, Miss Harley," she greeted. "You sure are a late sleeper. I was worried you were going to miss lunch."

"My tummy started growling, it woke me up!" she giggled. "Hey," she said, moving to stand by Miss Lenora's side, "whatcha makin'?"

"Just a little surprise for you, my dear. Now you stop your poking around and head to the restroom to wash your hands. We're making pizza for lunch."

Harley smiled and raced off to do as she was told. After they had made the pizza and set it in the oven to cook, Harley sat down at the dining room table as Lenora followed suit, gingerly folding her hands in her lap.

"What'd ya wanna talk to me about?" Harley asked, folding her arms over the table and propping her chin atop them. She loved talking to Miss Lenora and always gave her friend her full attention.

"Well," she gently began, "your mother informed me that you said some rather nasty things to the neighbor boy yesterday... and she said she'd like you to go over and apologize to him."

Harley sighed, closing her eyes dramatically.

"Why did you do that, Harley?"

"Because... " she trailed off, delicately tracing the bandage that covered her stitches.

"'Because' is never a suitable answer, Harley," she said softly. "There's always a reason why." After a moment of silence, Lenora sighed, rising from her seat and perching her glasses back atop her nose. "But you don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to, dear. I only ask that you do as your mother requested."

"Do I have to?" she whined.

"Your mother would appreciate it," Lenora moved closer and put a gentle hand on her back, "and it would mean a great deal to me, too."

"Why? You don't know _Jack_," she said, spitting his name out with disgust, as if the very word was sour acid on her tongue.

"You're right, dear, I don't. But I do know that everyone deserves a second chance." She let Harley savor those words as she soothingly brushed the young girl's hair aside. "You think so too, don't you?"

"I guess so," she mumbled, sliding off the chair and hanging her head so her chin touched her chest.

Lenora smiled at Harley's dramatics. "The pizza won't be done for another fifteen minutes, so why don't you go over there and by the time you get back, I'll have the pizza all ready for us. That sound alright?"

Harley nodded her head and made her way back into the living room, planting herself on the steps as she tugged on her sneakers. She expertly tied them the way Miss Lenora had taught her to and then kissed the elder woman goodbye. Lenora suddenly called to Harley as she trudged down the porch steps, stopping the young girl in her tracks.

"Harley?"

She turned around, watching as Miss Lenora smiled at her from the door.

"Have I told you yet today how much I adore you?"

Harley couldn't help the blush that crept up her cheeks and the small smile that followed after. It was something Miss Lenora said to her every day they saw each other. Miss Lenora never once forgot to utter the words, and Harley always loved hearing them.

She smiled halfheartedly as she waved the elderly woman goodbye, and Lenora watched as Harley marched through the yard and went next door.

The small girl wasn't nearly as confident as she looked, however. As she neared Jack's house, she noted that the blue pick-up was in the driveway. It was very old looking and had various dents and scratches, unlike her parent's car, which was unblemished and nearly perfect.

Jack's house, along with the car, also looked rather unkempt. The elderly couple who had inhabited the house before him had always done a nice job of taking care of the landscape. Every first Saturday of the month, the hired help would come and trim the bushes, mow the lawn, and then power-wash the driveway since Mr. Danvers was physically unable.

Now, however, the bushes in front of the porch were wild and un-groomed, the grass hadn't been cut since Jack's family had moved in. Dead leaves leftover from winter were scattered in the bushes and on the porch.

Fear and apprehension breathed like a monster into Harley's ear as she climbed the porch steps, swallowing hard. Even from outside she could hear the television blaring, and when someone yelled from inside, Harley nearly jumped out of her skin. She thought about turning back and going home, but she knew she wouldn't be able bare the disappointment on Miss Lenora's face if she did.

Cautiously, she reached forward and rang the doorbell.

Several moments passed before anything happened, and Harley waited with bated breath for someone to answer the door. She secretly hoped that nobody was home, but she knew that wasn't the case.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, it opened.

Jack stood before her, his hair ruffled and his hands and arms smeared in patches of black grease. Sweat stains had gathered beneath the sleeves of his gray shirt, and Harley wondered what on earth he had been doing to look so dirty.

He licked his lips and wiped his brow, closing the door a little behind him to shield the inside of his home from her view. It was dark inside, and Harley couldn't see much.

"What are you doing?" he asked gruffly, his voice pitched into that strange, low decibel that boys his age weren't supposed to have.

"I... I came to say that I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Jack repeated, his forehead creasing. "Sorry for what? That you said what you really felt? Why be sorry for that?"

"Well I—I don't know. Miss Lenora said that everyone deserves a second chance."

Jack snorted, his eyes shifting from her face to the white bandage wrapped around her arm. He smirked.

"How's it feel?" he nodded towards the appendage.

Harley protectively hid both arms behind her back, for some reason finding herself embarrassed that Jack had noticed the damage he had caused.

"It itches," she sighed.

The two of them settled into an uncomfortable silence then, the hot rays of the sun beating down on the back of Harley's neck and legs. A car drove by on the street in front of the house, and she briefly turned to watch it disappear around the corner.

As always, she didn't let it stay silent for long. She turned back towards Jack, staring up into his dark eyes that were still focused on hers.

"Do you forgive me or not?" she wanted to know.

Jack smiled, only the second smile he had offered her since their first encounter, and Harley was entranced as the dried, bloodied scab on his lower lip—now practically black—shone in the sunlight. He leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees and leveling their gazes.

"Sure Harley-girl, I forgive you." Sarcasm was laced within his voice, but it went unnoticed by Harley.

"You do?" she gushed, suddenly ecstatic. She smiled at him, her eyes full of warmth. "Do you wanna be best friends now? We can catch bugs in my backyard," she offered, wiggling her eyebrows as if she just knew the offer was one that he couldn't pass up.

Jack, however, did just that.

"No."

He straightened and went to close the door, but Harley let her temper get the best of her. Grunting, she pushed on it with all her might, and Jack was forced to open it again.

"Why don't you want to be friends with me?" she cried, stomping her foot like the petulant child she was.

"Harley, _go home_," Jack ground out through his teeth. It was the second time he had uttered those words to her, but they didn't have the same effect as the first.

Harley stood her ground, glaring at him, when suddenly, a voice called from inside.

"Jack? Who's at the door, boy?"

"Great," he muttered to himself, hanging his head. Harley noticed he suddenly looked stiff and uncomfortable, his Adam's apple bobbing against his throat when he swallowed. "It's no one," he called back.

"Don't tell me that when you've been standing there talking for the past five minutes!" the voice shouted. "You bring our guest inside and make them feel welcome, you hear?"

Jack sighed and reluctantly pulled the door opened wider, motioning for Harley to come inside.

Harley, intrigued, stepped over the threshold and entered Jack's house, her lashes fluttering as her eyes attempted to adjust to the darkness. She heard the click of the door close behind her as she folded her hands in front of her, curiously inspecting his home.

All the blinds were drawn closed despite it being the middle of the day, only letting in a sliver of afternoon sunlight. A golden strand of it hung suspended in the air, caught between the panels of the plastic blinds as it illuminated the dust particles that floated in the room. Harley swallowed and licked her chapped lips, the house unbearably hot and turning her throat dry.

The smell of cigarette smoke was overwhelming, and she coughed and scrunched her nose, the scent of it entirely unpleasant to all her senses.

The TV glowed from within the living room, providing the only source of light, and as Harley crept closer, following at Jack's heels, she spied the top of someone's head from the recliner that sat in front of the TV.

"Who'd you bring in here, boy? Let me see."

Harley slowly inched forward, finally coming to a stop next to the chair that his father was slumped in.

He looked just like Jack, Harley noticed; or rather, _Jack_ looked just like _him_. She could tell he was tall like Jack, even slumped over as he was, but his face was more defined than his son's. His jaw was bigger, stronger. His eyes were the same deep brown, but his hair, while still blond, was cut shorter and was straight. He was very handsome, even if Harley didn't realize it at the time.

When she came into his view, he tilted his head at her and smiled broadly, his beer bottle coming down on the glass coffee table with a sharp clink that made Harley jump.

"Well well well," he said, still smiling, "look at _you_. Aren't you just a pretty little thing. You must be the little girl that's got Jack's head all wrapped up in the clouds." He grinned, and Jack looked away. "What's your name, girl?"

Harley opened her mouth to speak, but for the life of her, she couldn't force any sound out. She had never been so nervous in her life, and she didn't understand why. Perhaps it was because Jack's house was so dark and she could hardly see anything, or the fact that Jack's father was staring at her with an unwavering gaze. He was too overbearing, and as Harley's voice continued to fail her, she felt a hot blush stain her cheeks.

"Don't be shy, sweetie, I'm a nice guy," he assured her. "C'mere." He gestured for her to come closer, but Harley's small legs felt like deadweights and she remained rooted to her spot.

He only smirked and scooted forward so he was on the edge of his chair, reaching out for Harley's wrist. He pulled her forward as she made a small noise of discomfort in the back of her throat.

Jack looked on with an unreadable expression, and when Harley craned her neck to see him, she almost thought he looked worried, a look that, coming from him, was entirely foreign to her.

When she was face to face with his father, he let go of her wrist. "Come on now, tell me your name," he urged, staring at her with rapt attention. Harley felt like a doll on display under his unwavering scrutiny.

The small girl swallowed down the dry patches in her throat and blinked.

"My—my name's Har—Harley," she stuttered, pressing her lips together when she had finished.

"Harley, huh?" He leaned back in his chair, eyes briefly flickering to the TV behind her. "You mean like the motorcycle?"

She shrugged her shoulders and bit her bottom lip, not sure what he was referring to.

He laughed sharply at her response. "You're a doll, aren't you?" He smiled and snatched his beer from the table, taking a swig and then resting it on his lap. "Hey," he suddenly said, his demeanor changing in an instant and his smile gone. He turned and flicked on the floor lamp next to the recliner, creating a strange, pale glow. Harley thought it was odd that the lampshade was crooked. "That's a nasty bandage you got there on your arm," he nodded. "Where'd you get it?"

Harley looked down at her arm, staring at the white bandage as if she didn't know quite what to make of it. She then looked up at Jack who was standing off the side behind her. They locked eyes and she immediately knew that she had to tell the same story she had told her mother.

"I fell on the curb," she explained quietly, not meeting the older man's eyes.

"Did you?" he inquired, his head tilted to the side. Harley feared that he could somehow see past her lie and knew the truth. Nervous butterflies began to settle in her stomach because of it, their imaginary wings flapping around her intestines and making her squirm.

She swallowed and averted her eyes to the floor, wrapping her arms around her middle as she observed the carpet in great detail.

"Well Harley," he said, crossing his ankle atop his knee as he reached for a pack of cigarettes that had been on the floor, "pretty girls like you shouldn't be falling on curbs. Don't want any nasty scars like Jack's now, do you?" He laughed wryly at his joke, as if somehow the insult was terribly amusing.

Harley watched, fascinated, as Jack's father brought a lighter to the cigarette held captive between his lips, giving it a few clicks before a flame emerged.

"Let me tell you something Harley," he began, mumbling around the tobacco lodged in the corner of his mouth as smoke wafted around him, "there's nothing better than—"

"Harley has to go."

Jack's father looked up at his son almost lazily, his eye twitching in irritation at having been interrupted.

"Mm," he mumbled gruffly, "that she does." He let a string of smoke descend from between his lips and then rolled his cigarette between his slim fingers. Harley stared at his large, strong hands, captivated by the way the light from the lamp reflected off his silver watch. "Jack's got an air conditioning to fix after all." He looked pointedly at Jack and then turned his attention back to Harley, grinning. "And you, pretty girl," he leaned forward so that Harley could taste the smoke on his breath, "probably have somewhere to be, don't you?"

Harley vigorously nodded her head, stumbling backwards as Jack grabbed her by her arm and began pulling her away.

Jack's father called after her, looking over his chair as Jack pulled her along.

"See you around, kid."

Outside, the sun was blinding and Harley shielded it with her arm as she was shoved onto the porch. She turned around to face Jack just as he shut the door and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, hauling her in front of him. She gasped as he pulled her face closer to his own, the tips of her toes just barely brushing the ground beneath her. She panted heavily and grabbed his hand, hoping to lessen the pressure as Jack searched her eyes.

"Don't _ever _come back here," he growled, his face so close that she could have counted the freckles on his nose. "Do you understand me?"

"W—why?" she stammered.

Jack's hard, tough façade nearly crumbled at her question, and she saw something change in his eyes.

The moment was gone in only a second, disappearing as quickly as a flash of lightning, and Jack narrowed his eyes at her, tugging harder on her shirt and sneering at her.

"Just _don't_."

He let her go then and she stumbled to the concrete porch, landing on her bottom.

Harley watched, mouth agape and eyes wide, as Jack turned and slammed the door in front of her. She heard the lock turning from the other side and could only stare in shock.

Swallowing, she shakily got to her feet and retreated down the steps. She ran home as fast as she could, her legs nearly giving out beneath her at every step.

She crumbled on the steps of her own porch when she reached it, feeling too many emotions to be described at once. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. Her whole body felt numb with a sick sense of dread, an emotion she hadn't ever felt before.

Jack was unlike anyone she had ever met. It seemed like no matter how hard she tried, he kept pushing her away; it didn't matter how nice she was, didn't matter what she said or what she did.

She had even _apologized_. Had that not meant anything to him?

Harley didn't know what to make of what had just happened, but if there was one thing she didknow, it was that that she _hated_ Jack.

* * *

The following three months passed in slow succession. Harley kept busy with school and spent the remainder of her time at Miss Lenora's house, Nick and Sharon consumed by work.

Harley had scarcely seen Jack after their last encounter. She would occasionally catch a glimpse of him walking to school in the gray, early hours of morning as her mother drove her to her own school, but he never glanced at her or even acknowledged that a car had just driven past.

It made Harley hate him even more. She wanted to forget about him, forget they had even ever met, but it was hard to do when he lived right next door.

In early May, Jack's grandparents moved in. She wasn't sure why, but she had overheard her mother whispering to her father in the kitchen one night that Jack's father had "took off."

Harley furrowed her brows at that, not understanding. What about Jack's mother? She hadn't been there the day she had gone to his house. Perhaps she had been sleeping or out running errands?

Regardless, Jack's dad was gone—somewhere, she didn't know where—and his grandparents had moved in without much ado. It was a quiet affair, and the other neighbors on the street either didn't notice or didn't care.

Harley had only seen his grandparents once. She caught a brief glimpse of them on the day they had first moved in, and all she could gather was that they were both old and fragile looking.

For a month, she didn't see Jack at all. It was almost as if he had disappeared completely. Harley would glance over into his yard every afternoon, but nothing ever changed except for the grass. It continued to grow, and the house began to look more unkempt than it had in years.

She figured that it would appear vacant to any random passersby, and indeed, even she herself forgot that the run-down house was inhibited. The driveway was always empty, the blinds permanently closed, and Harley noticed that even the mail had ceased to be delivered anymore, something she found incredibly odd.

Most days, she pushed him to the back of her mind and forgot about him. But in the dark, she couldn't help but let her thoughts stray to him before she went to sleep. His garage light shone in her window every night as she lay under the covers and kept her awake. The light bounced off the mobile above her head, creating strange, distorted shadows on her wall.

She had become so accustomed to the light that, on the night when it wasn't on, Harley knew something was wrong. An uncomfortable weight settled heavily in the pit of her stomach, forcing her to curl into a ball and hold her tummy as she stared at the wall for what felt like hours.

She was surprised when she awoke to the sound of voices outside. She groggily opened her eyes, her room a pallid shade of gray. It was four AM; she didn't have to be up for school for another three hours.

She tried drifting back to sleep, but when the voices wouldn't go away, the same nervous feeling crept into her stomach once again and she crawled out of bed, pushing the covers away and padding over to the window. She gripped the sill and stared down into Jack's yard, surprised to find several cars parked in the driveway and on the street.

Harley spotted a police car in the driveway, its blue and red lights flashing silently.

She pressed her face closer to the window and watched as two people conversed on the porch. She didn't recognize either of them and moved her eyes elsewhere, looking for a familiar face. Where were Jack's grandparents? Where was _Jack_?

It was then that she noticed an ambulance parked near the side of the curb, nearly hidden by the tree in the front yard. She craned her head to see it better, but all she could see were two stretchers inside the vehicle just as the doors where being closed.

Harley backed away from the window, confused. Her heart began to pound in her chest and she raced into her parent's bedroom. Her mother was away on a business trip, so she roused her father and pulled him out of bed after much frantic pleading.

He pulled on his bathrobe and Harley trailed at his heels as he leisurely made his way down the steps.

"Move faster, daddy!"

She irritably squeezed passed him and jumped from the last step. She pulled on her sneakers, tucking the laces inside her shoes in her frantic haste.

Harley watched her father's face as he looked out the bay window and into the neighbor's yard, desperately trying to read his expression. He didn't say anything as he moved towards the door and slipped on a pair of shoes.

Harley immediately got to her feet and prepared to follow him out the door.

"No," he said, sighing. "You wait here. You don't need to be outside."

"But daddy—" she whined.

"Harleen I said stay _here_. I'll be right back."

Harley watched her father disappear outside, closing the door behind him. She crawled onto the seat beneath the bay window and watched from there. After a few minutes, she spotted her father in Jack's driveway, conversing with a police officer. They spoke for a lot longer than Harley thought they would, and she began to grow antsy when she still couldn't figure out what was going on.

She wondered if something had happened to Jack. Perhaps he had gotten sick and they were taking him to the hospital? She secretly hoped that maybe something had.

_He deserves it,_ she thought bitterly.

When Nick made his way back towards the house, Harley raced to the door and opened it for him.

"What happened?"

When her father explained to her that Jack's grandparents had passed away, Harley felt a strange pang in her chest. She had never met his grandparents, but she felt oddly effected by the event all the same. Almost as if in a daze, she solemnly returned to bed, crying herself back to sleep but not understanding exactly why.

* * *

Things were different after that. School had let out for the summer, but Harley was strangely unenthusiastic about it.

The death of Jack's grandparents had affected her in a way she couldn't have possibly described, and it wasn't until Miss Lenora began to turn increasingly ill that Nick and Sharon began to pay more attention to their daughter. Harley's attitude had deteriorated greatly, and she no longer took pleasure in any of the things that used to make her happy. She was sullen and depressed all throughout the day and cried herself to sleep every night before bed.

It was on a rainy Wednesday night in June, only four days after the death of Jack's grandparents, when things took a turn for the worse.

Cassie was babysitting that evening, and she sat on the couch, flipping through one of Sharon's fashion magazines as the TV quietly droned in the background. Harley sat on the bench beneath the window, unusually silent as she colored. At seven o'clock, it was raining hard, and Harley sighed as she turned away from the bleak weather outside and picked up a green crayon, filling in the grass beneath Scooby Doo's paws.

Suddenly, the shrill scream of a siren met both girl's ears, and Harley's head shot up at the sound.

"Ugh, I hate that noise," Cassie complained, only briefly glancing up from the behind the glossy pages of _Vogue_.

Harley frowned, getting to her knees so she could stare out the window. The wail of the siren became even louder, and with horror, she realized that an ambulance was turning down their street.

"Cassie, look!" she cried.

Cassie dropped her magazine to the couch and came to stand behind Harley just as the flashing, wailing lights of the ambulance sped by on the street just outside.

Cassie didn't appear to be very concerned, but Harley was nauseous. Her house was nearly at the very end of the street, and only three others followed after it.

Miss Lenora's was one of them.

She watched in panic as the ambulance turned into someone's driveway, disappearing from view.

"No," she whispered.

Her breath began to quicken as she jumped off the window seat, her box of crayons spilling to the floor as she raced towards the door. She tugged on her rain boots, putting them on the wrong feet in her haste as Cassie yelled from behind her.

"Harleen Quinzel, don't you dare go outside, do you hear me?"

Harley wasn't listening. Cassie's voice was merely a blur of sound in her mind, and as she opened the door, not evening bothering to put on a raincoat, she raced down the porch steps, Cassie screaming after her to come back inside.

But she ran.

Rain poured down all around her, stinging her face as her blonde, braided pigtails were whipped behind her in her frenzy.

Harley would always play a game every time she was on the sidewalk. She made sure that she always avoided the cracks, even if it meant standing on her tippy-toes or occasionally placing one foot in the grass to avoid a particularly nasty, spider-webbed crack.

This time, however, the game didn't even register in her mind, and she simply ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Her rubber rain boots pounded into the concrete with determined, frantic force, rain splashing around her and soaking her pink pajama bottoms.

Two police cars sped past her, their sirens wailing as Harley followed the lights with her eyes.

Her worst fears were confirmed when she saw the two cars park on the curb right outside of Miss Lenora's house, the flashing lights of the ambulance parked in the driveway.

A sob tore its way past Harley's throat and she tried in vain to hold back her tears as she neared Lenora's home, running faster.

The scene was horrifyingly familiar to her. She remembered the way the same red and blue lights had flashed in Jack's driveway only four nights prior, remembered the way the medics had loaded his grandparents, already dead, into the back of the ambulance and cruelly slammed the doors shut, their fate forever sealed.

She was out of breath by the time she had reached the front porch, and she could hear several officers shouting for her to stop as she squeezed passed them in the doorway and raced to Lenora's bedroom.

The distinct, pleasant scent of Lenora's home filled Harley's nostrils, and she would have reveled in it had the situation not been so dire.

Lenora's room was on the first floor, just outside the living room, and Harley pushed open the door, ignoring the stares of all the strangers surrounding Lenora's bedside.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be in here," someone told her in an urgent voice, but she ignored it, rushing to be by her friend's side.

"Miss Lenora," she gasped, startled to find that the woman's face was nearly as pale as the white bed sheets that she rested on. She pushed her wet braids behind her, moving closer to the bed.

"Harley?" Her voice, as delicate and fragile as China glass, was nearly a whisper as her watery eyes searched the room for her favorite little girl.

"I'm right here, Miss Lenora," Harley cried, tears filling her eyes as she gingerly held Lenora's, soft, thin hand in her own. "I'm right here."

"Who is she?" she heard someone ask from behind her, but Harley tuned their voices out, only focusing on the ailing woman—her _friend_—in front of her.

Harley watched the sweat glistening on Lenora's forehead and above her brows, her silvery, white hair frazzled. Harley stroked her hand, feeling the blue and purple veins there and all the freckles she had grown to memorize.

"Miss Lenora," Harley whispered, "please don't go," she choked out. "I—I need you."

A small smile flickered across Lenora's thin, cracked lips, and she weakly squeezed Harley's hand with all the strength she could muster.

"Oh, Harley," she whispered, "have I told you yet today how much I adore you?"

Harley closed her eyes and cried. Tears slid down her cheeks in hopeless abandon. She crawled up onto the bed, the medics too stunned by the scene to stop her, and gingerly wrapped her arms around Lenora's middle, burying her head in her bosom as she sobbed.

"I love you."

They were the last words Harley uttered to her friend before the room erupted into a frenzy.

The slow, beeping machine that Lenora had been hooked to suddenly droned, the mountain peaks on the screen dipping into a thin, straight line.

Harley knew something bad had happened then, and she was quickly pulled off the bed, crying, as several medics tried to revive the elder woman, yelling words and asking for instruments she didn't understand.

Everything else seemed to follow in slow motion. She was carried out of the room in a stranger's arms, and Cassie was waiting for her in Lenora's living room. She was crying also, uttering something along the lines of "I thought I had lost you," and "don't ever do that again."

It was, single handedly, the longest night of Harley's life... and it irrevocably changed everything.

In the following weeks, Nick and Sharon tried in vain to console their daughter, but, as they were never home, there wasn't much they could do to help her. They couldn't give her their time, so they substituted by giving her their money in the form of presents and toys that all ended up in the back of her closet within the week. She didn't want Barbie dolls and stuffed animals—she wanted a _friend_. Her closest one was gone forever, and now Harley didn't know how to cope because of it. Her parent's lavishing of gifts didn't help the situation, and only provoked her to anger because they didn't understand the reasoning behind her grief.

The mysterious death of Jack's grandparents and Lenora's consequent passing had been entirely unexpected, causing a string of equally unprecedented events.

There was a lot of paperwork involved, and a lot of talk on her parent's part, all of which Harley didn't understand the nature of. In the kitchen, the two of them spoke in hushed voices in the early hours of the morning before leaving for work, making phone calls and sorting through papers.

Harley heard her name uttered many times as she listened secretly from the stairwell, but it was never enough to piece together the mystery that was their conversation.

A week later, Nick and Sharon sat her down at the dining room table late one evening and explained to her what was happening.

Harley could only listen in shock.

Because Jack was now an orphan and Nick and Sharon were quite wealthy and perfectly eligible to adopt, it meant that Jack, the little boy that she despised and hated... was moving into her house.

And he was going to be her big brother.

* * *

_**Author's Notes: **_This is the first Joker/Harley story I have ever attempted. I wanted to provide "Nolanverse" Joker with a suitable Harley Quinn that was both realistic and gritty. I wanted to give him someone who had garnered a close but unwarranted relationship with him from his very beginning. Harley meeting the Joker in Arkham worked in the comic, Mad Love, but for Nolanverse, I wanted to give the pair a radically different origin. I hope this doesn't ruffle too many feathers, but again, I just wanted to experiment with something different. If nobody likes the idea or if it isn't received well, I can scratch the story and start again, so please feel free to share your thoughts. Thank you all for reading.

Special thanks to my dear friends/fellow authors: **FreakwriterCHM**, **Lorien Urbani**, and **Virusir** for all the helpful advice they provided me with during the creation of this story.


	2. Chapter 2

It should have taken months for the paperwork to finalize. Adopting a child wasn't a decision that was made on a whim. There was detailed planning involved, social workers to meet with, and mountains of papers requiring signatures and state approval.

When you knew people in high places, however—or, better yet, you _were_ people in high places—the obstacles could be easily dodged and forgone.

Working in the senator's office had its perks, and for Sharon Quinzel it was no exception. Her excellent track record and Nick's high status in the court room were able to secure Jack Napier into their home within two weeks of his grandparent's passing.

Harley had screamed upon hearing the news.

"Harleen Quinzel, you stop that this instant!" Sharon ordered. Across the table, Nick sat next to his wife with glazed eyes, staring at his daughter past the glass vase that separated them. The dandelions Harley had gathered from the yard were wilting, the turned stems a dull, faded brown. He wondered why Sharon hadn't thrown them out yet.

"You don't understand!" Harley cried, burying her head in her hands, her voice muffled by the tablecloth at her lips. "I _hate_ Jack! I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!"

Sharon stood from the table and pressed her lips together, planting a hand on her hip as she stared at Harley's bowed head. The little girl's pigtails were flopped against the tabletop like limp bunny ears.

Harley had always been one for dramatics, Sharon knew that well. Her daughter threw temper tantrums and screamed until she got her way, and locked herself in her bedroom for hours on end when she didn't. She had always been stubborn, and Sharon knew that as her mother, she was partly to blame. She hadn't always been there for Harley, not what with her busy work schedule and Nick's long hours in the courtroom. They couldn't give Harley the time or attention she needed, especially now that Lenora had passed and she was no longer a feasible option for Harley's entertainment. Sharon knew that by providing Harley with a friend—with Jack—she could help fill that gap.

But this wasn't solely for Harley's benefit, no. Sharon had her own motives for adopting Jack. Ultimately, he was a way to further the public's opinion of her. Jack was _good publicity._ As a politician, it looked good when she did something generous, like donate a large sum of money to a worthy cause or attend charity balls. And now, by taking Jack—an orphan boy with no immediate friends or family—into her home, the deed was sure to send the Gotham Newspapers into a frenzy. She'd get good press, but she'd also get a playmate for Harley in the process. It was killing two birds with one stone.

She mused over this as Jack sat in the back seat of the car, staring out the window. She glanced in the rearview mirror and held back a grimace. She really hoped his filthy clothes weren't going to stain her leather seats. She was going to have to buy Jack some new attire, she decided, that much was certain. And perhaps he'd want to decorate his bedroom as well? What did boys his age like? Superheroes? Race cars? Cowboys? Sports? Maybe sometime during the weekend she could make a trip to the store. A lot of things were going to change at home, and while she wasn't entirely enthusiastic over the prospect, she knew that having the boy around would keep Harley occupied.

"Jack?" she called, gripping the steering wheel as he turned and met her eyes in the rearview mirror. His stare was blank—glassy and dark—and made her feel strangely unsettled. He didn't say anything as she directed her eyes back to the road. She waited until they had reached a stoplight before addressing him.

"I was thinking maybe you'd like to get some new clothes. I can get you anything you want," she offered. The light turned green, and she gently stepped on the peddle, awaiting his response.

Jack let out a barely-there sigh and turned to the window again. "I'm fine," he replied.

Sharon pursed her lips in thoughtfulness, thinking of the two, lone duffel bags Jack had in the trunk. He hardly owned anything at all. He couldn't possibly have enough clothes to last him for the summer.

"It's really no problem," she assured him, smiling. She glanced into the mirror again but Jack didn't seem to be listening. He had been silent the whole ride back from the foster shelter. Sharon hoped he would liven up before they got to the house.

The more she mulled over it though, the more she came to realize that she knew nothing about this little boy she was taking under her roof. His home life hadn't been the best—what with his father walking out and his mother "disappearing" when he was a mere toddler (according to what the agency had said, anyway)—but she still held onto a small vestige of hope. Jack might not have the best background, but he was still redeemable. He just needed a little love and attention. She'd sign him up for sports, convince him to try out for the baseball team or something. He could take Harley to the pool this summer and they could take swimming classes together, perhaps? She smiled to herself at the thought. Harley's aversion towards Jack wouldn't last long, not with the summer she had planned for the two of them. Harley had always wanted a brother, and she was sure Jack would teach Harley many things.

Sharon felt content for the rest of the ride home, blinded by her own blissful ignorance. She didn't know anything about Jack, and Jack, sitting alone in the backseat, already resented the fact that she thought she had him all figured out. He wasn't some puzzle to be solved, wasn't a broken toy she could piece back together with a little care and attention. He could see right through her. He knew exactly why he was being taken under the Quinzel's wing; it didn't take a genius to figure it all out.

As they turned onto the street, Jack stared at the house that used to be his own. He had lived there for only a short amount of time, but it felt strange knowing that he'd be sleeping under a different roof from now on. But he wasn't going to miss that place; he hated it. It felt suffocating to be inside it, like the walls were closing in around him and he was slowly dying. It was too dark, too hot, and too broken.

Everything in that house was broken; the air conditioner, the screen door that led to the backyard, the sink. He remembered one summer when the facet in the bathroom had leaked. His father had forced him to collect every drop so as not to waste any water. He stood slumped against the old, cracked ceramic sink for hours, holding a plastic cup beneath the faucet to capture every drip. No matter the fact that he could have just let the cup sit at the sink and let the water collect itself. His father had demanded he stand there and watch.

Later Jack threw the cup of water in his father's face in a moment of blind rage. And afterwards, he couldn't sit for a week, limped when he walked, and the climb up the stairs to his bedroom at the end of every day was so excrutiating he nearly cried.

The sun, stretching out its tired yellow hands, began to peek out from behind the overcast clouds as the car pulled into the driveway. Jack tugged his lower lip into his mouth with his teeth, tonguing at the scab there.

"Nick won't be back until later if you want him to carry your things inside," Sharon said as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

"It's fine," he replied in a voice that made Sharon not want to press the matter further. She retrieved her purse from the passenger seat as Jack opened the trunk and hauled both duffel bags out, throwing them over his shoulder.

He followed Sharon to the front door and they both stepped inside. He was greeted with the phone ringing shrilly in the kitchen, a sound that caused Sharon to sigh in exasperation.

"You can just leave your things right there for now." She motioned to the floor by the steps. "I'll be right back."

She dispersed through the living room and disappeared from sight, leaving Jack to stand in the doorway. He let his bags slump to the floor as he looked around. The house was clean and well-kept, a stark contrast to what was formerly his own. He was unused to the silence as well. No loud music, no TV commercials constantly blaring in the background, no shouting. It was strange being able to hear himself think.

He continued to trace his tongue over the scab on his lower lip as he ventured a few steps into the living room. He read the spines of the books on the nearby bookshelf in silence, looking for titles he recognized or sounded interesting.

His chest rose in a small sigh and he turned away at having not found anything of interest; most of the books had to do with politics and the law.

The sound of Sharon's laughter floated from within the kitchen, and Jack let his shoulders droop, knowing she'd probably be on the phone for a while. He resigned himself to sit on the couch while he waited, but as he turned to do so, his eyes fell upon the small form curled there.

Across from the window and on the other side of the room, Harley lay asleep on the cushions, her long, blonde hair sprawled out across her shoulders in a messy fishtail braid. Her lashes were pressed against her cheeks and the light pink tulle of her tutu—the spandex waistband pulled taut around her middle—surrounded her curled form, nearly hiding her from view. Her matching ballet slippers lay on the hardwood next to her.

Jack stared with a calculating expression, watching the rise and fall of her chest and the way her nose would occasionally twitch. He eyed the bandage on her arm with something of a satisfied smirk, wondering if the stitches underneath would leave a scar.

He hoped they did.

A moment later when Sharon returned from the kitchen, she led Jack upstairs to his new bedroom, chattering the whole way. The small, square room was plainly decorated; only a single framed picture—a pink rose—hung on the wall. Jack's gaze flickered around the room and fell on the opened window. The sheer, white curtains billowed in the breeze, giving him a brief glance at one of the neighbor boys across the street. He cocked his head upon recognizing him as Allan, the boy who had pinned Harley to the grass several weeks ago.

"Everything's a bit dusty," Sharon noted with a frown, more to herself than to him.

Jack swallowed past his dry throat and set his duffle bags on the bed, eyeing the white, paisley bedspread with a blank expression.

Sharon smiled and laughed as if she knew what he was thinking. I know it's probably not what you're used to, but we can buy you a new one tomorrow."

Jack shook his head. "It's fine."

That was to be Jack's phrase of the evening, Sharon soon observed. After giving him a small tour of the house, she left him to his room to unpack. It was only a little while later when she called him down to dinner.

* * *

In the living room, Harley's eyes fluttered open at the sound of voices in the kitchen. It was dark out, and the streetlamps from outside illuminated the framed picture of Harley above the TV. She made a face at it and rolled onto her back, stretching her arms above her head.

Curious about the voices from the kitchen, she untangled herself from her tutu and smoothed it down as she stood from the couch. Rubbing the sleep away from her eyes as she entered the kitchen, she halted in her tracks when she saw Jack sitting in _her_ chair. His eyes rose from his plate to meet her fiery gaze.

"Harleen, darling, why don't you come sit down?" Sharon smiled and nodded at the seat across from Jack.

With her lips pressed into a thin line, Harley moved into the seat across from him and smoothly folded her arms across her chest, her head held high. Sharon regarded her show of defiance with pursed lips.

"Well, are you going to eat?"

"No." She shook her head, sending her pigtails flying.

"Harley, don't shake your hair at the table," her father said without looking up from his plate. She was surprised he was home so early tonight. It was rare that they had family dinners like this.

She frowned though and slumped further into her seat, shooting Jack a venomous glare. He seemed to be regarding her with an expression she couldn't decipher, his eyes revealing not even the slightest emotion. This bothered her immensely, and shehuffedin annoyance and narrowed her eyes.

"Harleen, if you're not going to eat then you can excuse yourself from the table," her mother announced.

Harley shot her a look of indignation and then turned to her father, hoping he would speak up in her defense.

Nick, however, stared at his plate and did not lift his head. He had always been passive when it came to family matters. He was aggressive and confident in the courtroom—an assertive man who knew exactly what to say and when to say it—but within his own home, he often felt too tired to care. Harley was beyond his usual range of thoughts and was a stark contrast to himself. She desired attention that he just didn't have the energy to give her. She wanted him to tell her how pretty she was when she modeled her dress-up clothes, or clap his hands in praise at a new gymnastics trick. She wanted him to hold her hand when she sat beside him while he was watching TV. Or for him to hug and kiss her goodnight before bed. But he could never bring himself to do any of those things for her.

She stared at her father with an almost hurt expression, as if he had said something that had physically wounded her. In truth, he hadn't said anything at all, and that hurt her the most. It was as if she wasn't even there. She was used to him ignoring her, or acknowledging her presence only when she did something wrong, but her heart ached for his attention all the same.

Across from her, Jack was quickly figuring out the family dynamic. Harley's mother was self-absorbed and vain, and her father was a workaholic and an apathetic man, indifferent to his family.

Harley though, well, she was the easiest of all to figure out. It was obvious to him she was neglected. She was starved for attention and terribly misbehaved because of it. She was also spoiled, but just not in the way that she wanted to be.

It was funny, Jack thought. From the outside, the Quinzels appeared as the perfect family. Nick and Sharon made an attractive couple. Nick had a tall, masculine build and a strong jaw, and Sharon was beautiful with her lithe frame and heart-shaped face. And Harley, of course, was their cute blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel. It was funny to Jack because he could see right through their little family charade in a matter of minutes. Sharon only pretended to be authoritative while Jack knew full well that Harley would do what she wanted regardless; Nick simply could not bring himself to care.

"Jack pushed me," Harley spoke up, breaking the silence the way a cup abruptly shatters to the floor. Jack's gaze rose to meet hers, and he stared, his mouth pulled into a tight line, not threatening, just staring. "He pushed me onto the sidewalk."

It took a moment for Sharon to realize what her daughter was talking about. She glanced at the bandage over her stitches. "What on earth are you talking about? Jack had nothing to do with that."

"But he did!" Harley insisted. "I met him at the bus stop in the rain and he told me to go away and that's when he pushed me!"

"Harleen, do _not_ raise your voice at the table, do you understand me?"

"But he _did_!" she said again. "He gave me stitches and I hate him! I hate—"

"Enough!"

The sound of Nick's palm slamming against the table was sufficient in making Harley and Sharon both jump. The hanging lamp suspended over the table rattled, the rays of yellowed light momentarily swaying across the table. Jack did not flinch.

"Harley, go to your room." When he saw her open her mouth in protest, he added, "_Now_."

Harley wasn't bold enough to argue with him. Bold enough to challenge her mother? Yes, but never her father. Without a word, she scooted her chair back from the table and almost timidly exited the room, as if she expected him to scold her for that, too. At the stairwell, she poked her head over the banister and stared into the kitchen where her mother was trying to change the subject by asking Jack about his hobbies. He replied that he didn't have any.

With an exasperated roll of her eyes, Harley dragged herself up the rest of the stairs and then shut the door to her bedroom with a bang. She kicked over a stuffed unicorn in her anger and then slumped against the windowsill while her belly growled in want of food.

She really should have kept her mouth shut.

* * *

It was midnight when the noises from her growling tummy became too much to bear. She couldn't possibly wait until breakfast.

Carefully, she opened her door and peered into the hallway. All was silent and dark, and only the moonlight from the window in her room illuminated a small patch of floor above the top of the stairs. She glanced first to her parent's room, then to Jack's. The doors were both shut.

Relieved, she crept down the stairs and tip-toed into the kitchen. It was black, like the rest of the house, and when the fridge opened with a suctioned _pop_, the blinding white light came as an instant relief.

_Hmm_.

She stared at the leftovers with a frown as she chewed on her bottom lip, uninterested in those, and then at her mother's low-fat yogurts. She didn't want that, either. She studied the tall, thin bottle of wine in the very back, and then the leafy greens in the vegetable bin.

She eventually decided on a Juicy Juice box, even though she knew she wasn't supposed to have them because they were specifically for lunch when Cassie was babysitting. She fumbled with the straw for a moment in the light of the fridge before ushering the door closed by pushing her back against it.

Noisily she sucked from the bendy white straw, humming to herself in contentment. However, when she looked up, she let out a startled gasp at the sudden wraith that had appeared before her.

It took her a moment to realize it was only Jack, and she let out a breath in relief. Her hands had been clutching her juice box so tightly some of it had squirted from the straw and splashed to the floor. Jack noticed this and Harley thought she saw him smirk.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, momentarily forgetful of the fact that she had promised never to speak to him again.

He glanced behind him towards the table where a flashlight and an opened book lay face down and folded at the spine, not saying a word.

Harley swallowed and gripped her juice box, staring at his dark outline, and unable to see his face.

"What's the matter, Harley-girl?" she heard him taunt. "You're not afraid of the dark, are you?"

"I'm not a baby," she muttered indignantly. She moved to squeeze past him. He let her, but she was forced to a halt when she heard him mumble under his breath.

"You sure act like one."

In an instant, she whirled to face him, furious. "I do not!" She stomped her foot, and Jack quickly moved forward to place a hand over her mouth, stifling her.

Neither said anything as Jack held her still, both waiting for the tell-tale footfalls at the top of the stairs. When they were met with only silence, Harley pried Jack's hand away from her mouth.

"I still hate you," she seethed, more quietly this time.

She didn't wait for him to respond as she ran from him and retreated back to her room.

Jack remained in the middle of the kitchen, glancing at his feet.

"I know."

* * *

When Harley awoke the next morning, it was to see the yellow rays of the sun shining in through her window, and she remembered that it was Monday. Eagerly she threw off her covers and changed out of her PJs. Downstairs, Cassie was lying on the couch and flipping through channels. Her cell phone lay at her side.

Harley crawled over on her hands and knees and poked her head over the side of the couch.

"Peek-a-boo!" she giggled.

Cassie smiled faintly. "Hey, Harls. You're up early."

"I know," she gushed. "I'm huuungry. And I want to go to the park today." She hopped onto the couch and sat on Cassie's outstretched legs.

Cassie sighed and sat up, brushing her curly red hair over her shoulder. "Well, what do you want for breakfast?"

"Hm... what did you have?"

"A bagel with cream cheese."

Harley nodded. "I'll have that too."

Cassie changed the channel to Cartoon Network where an episode of Tom and Jerry was on. Harley was immediately enraptured by the devious cat and playful mouse, and Cassie got up from the couch and went to fix her food while she was distracted.

A few minutes later, as Harley munched on her bagel, Cassie twirled a strand of hair around her finger in a distracted manner and glanced towards the stairs.

"So, uh... where's Jack? That's his name, right?"

Harley scrunched her nose, tucking her legs beneath her Indian style as she watched an anvil fall on Tom's head. "Yeah, and I hate him," she scowled, tearing an angry bite out of her bagel.

"Why?"

"Because he's mean. And he gave me stitches!" she cried.

Cassie rolled her eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic."

Harley paused. She laid her paper plate in her lap. "What does melodramatic mean?"

Cassie had already lost interest in the conversation and was too busy texting her friends to reply.

For the rest of the morning, Harley sat on the floor in front of the TV while Cassie flipped through fashion magazines and worried her bottom lip. The older girl promised herself she was going to go on a diet. She always felt so plain when she flipped through magazines, knowing that she wasn't even half as gorgeous as the beautiful models in the advertisements. What she failed to realize, though, was that the images were airbrushed. With uneasiness, she picked up her cell phone to see if Aaron had texted her back. He hadn't.

She sighed and studied her reflection in the screen, unsatisfied with the face she saw staring back. She had too many freckles, she decided, and her lips were too thin. Her eyes were too far apart as well, and she hated that slight curve of her nose. She glanced back at the girl on the cover of Vogue, some exotic model from South Africa with big, green eyes and full lips. Why couldn't she look like _that_?

A sudden sound at the stairs made Cassie jump. The phone fell to her lap and she twisted around to find Jack standing there, watching her.

She studied him curiously, the boy she had heard so much about but never seen, as his blank eyes roamed over her. She wasn't sure why, but she felt herself blushing beneath his heavy gaze. He was sort of attractive, even despite that nasty scar on his bottom lip, she thought.

He was the first to break contact, finally looking away from her as he reached to pull open the front door.

"Wait!" Cassie felt herself calling.

Harley turned to see what Cassie was yelling at, and she scowled when she noticed Jack. "Don't talk to him, Cassie," Harley said, folding her arms high across her chest. "He might give you _stitches_." She turned back to the TV, intent on keeping her vow to never speak to him again even though she had already broken it last night in the kitchen.

"Harley!" Cassie snapped. "Don't be rude."

Cassie pushed herself off the couch and hesitantly walked towards Jack, as if he were a skittish animal and might run if she didn't approach slowly enough.

"Who're you?" he asked, catching Cassie off guard with the deep timbre of his voice. _Whoa, he sure did hit puberty early_, she thought. For a thirteen year-old he was quite tall, too. Taller than her, even, and she was fourteen.

"I'm the babysitter," she explained. She noticed his hand loosen around the door handle. "My name's Cassie. You're Jack, right?"

"Yeah," he said after a moment. She watched his tongue test the scab on his lower lip and felt her cheeks flushing when he looked her up and down. His eyes strayed towards Harley for a moment before meeting Cassie's slightly-embarrassed gaze.

"Were you going somewhere? You can hang out with us," she offered.

Harley whirled around at Cassie's words, her jaw dropping. "No!"

"Harley, if you don't stop I'm going to send you to your room."

With a huff, Harley pursed her lips and faced the TV. Cassie was starting to sound an awful lot like her mom, and she didn't like it. However, she would not give Jack the satisfaction of seeing her angry.

Upon Harley's outburst, a faint smile curled at Jack's lips. He looked at her. "Sure. I'll stay."

Inwardly, Cassie sighed in relief. He wasn't allowed to leave the house anyway according to Mrs. Quinzel's instructions—and Cassie wasn't sure she'd be able to stop him if he tried.

A bit stiffly, Jack lowered himself onto the small couch beneath the bay window, across from the couch Cassie was seated on. Harley remained in front of the TV. The three of them sat in silence while the sounds of the cartoon filled the uncomfortable tension. Harley seemed oblivious to it, but Cassie was racking her brain for something to say. She glanced at her cell phone and noticed that it was almost lunchtime.

"Do you want to eat with us . . . ?" she trailed off. She had to squint her eyes to see him, with the rays of afternoon sunlight peeking into the window behind him. It cast a yellow glow on the carpet and across Harley's shoulders and back.

Jack shrugged.

"Is pizza alright?" Cassie asked as she stood from the couch, smoothing out her floral-print blouse.

He nodded.

"Harley, do you want to help me make it?" Harley always helped her in the kitchen and loved getting her hands messy.

"No," she replied plainly. She shot a narrowed-eyed glare at Jack before returning to her TV show.

Cassie rolled her eyes. "Fine." She turned to face Jack and offered him a shy smile. "Would you like to help . . . ?"

Jack didn't say anything as he followed her into the kitchen.

Harley watched them leave, feeling her anger rise like a balloon about to burst. Her hands clenched and she turned back to the TV with a huff. Cassie was supposed to be on _her_ side.

She tried to ignore their voices talking from within the kitchen, but it was hard to ignore Cassie's high-pitched, girlish laughter. What was she laughing about anyway? _Jack isn't even funny_, she thought. _I bet he tells terrible jokes_.

Finally, when she couldn't take it anymore, she decided to go and investigate for herself. She poked her head into the kitchen to find Jack sitting on the barstool as Cassie stood on the other side of the counter, blushing and staring at the table as he spoke to her. _What is he talking about?_ she wanted to know.

Harley took a deep breath and entered the kitchen, sighing loudly and making a point of sitting at the very end of the counter, leaving two empty barstools between her and Jack. However, he didn't so much as glance at her, and Cassie didn't either. Harley sighed louder this time, but again she was ignored.

She put her forearms on the counter and rested her chin against them, watching the two of them with disapproving eyes. She wanted Cassie to hate Jack just as much as she did, and she didn't like the way Cassie was looking at him. Cassie was telling him what it was like at school, since he'd be transferring to hers in the fall.

"Why'd you go to Gotham Heights, anyways? That's all the way in the Narrows... "

"It was cheaper," Jack said quietly, with a shrug. "And my... dad went there when he was in high school."

Harley's mom had gone there, too. She knew this because she had once found her mom's old academic plaques and awards in the attic. Sharon had grimaced at the old, dusty certificates of achievement that bared her name when Harley had showed them to her. "What does this say, mommy?" Harley had asked.

"'Gotham Heights congratulates Sharon Abell on achieving the Outstanding Academic Performance of the Year award'," she read out loud.

Harley was awed, even though she had no idea what all that meant. "Wow," she said. "But your last name's not Abell," she uttered, confused.

"That was before I married your father, Harleen."

The buzzer from the oven drew Harley out of her thoughts. Cassie pulled out the pizza and cut a piece for Harley, setting it on a plate in front of her without a word as she resumed her conversation with Jack.

"Your dad is still alive, isn't he?" Cassie asked. "I heard some of the neighbors talking about it."

Harley watched Jack's expression carefully. If Jack's dad was still alive, then why wasn't Jack living with _him_?

His eyes seemed to darken at the mention of his father, and when he didn't answer, Cassie decided not to press the subject further.

"Anyways," she corrected herself, "You'll love Gotham High."

Jack licked his lips and looked down at his hands, interlocking his fingers beneath the countertop. "I'm sure I will," he said to nobody in particular.

Later, when Harley insisted that Cassie take her to the park, Cassie convinced Jack to tag along, and she chattered nonstop the whole way there. They had to pass the bus stop at the end of the street to get there, and Harley couldn't help but stare at the curb where she had gotten her stitches—the same curb Jack had pushed her to. Two paces ahead of her, Cassie was talking animatedly, gesturing with her hands, while Harley noticed that Jack's attention was directed elsewhere towards the same spot she was just looking at. She knew that he was thinking the same thing she was.

When they arrived at the park, Harley ran straight for the monkey bars, climbing the three bars that acted as steps so she could reach the top ones. She performed all sorts of tricks, dangling upside down, balancing along the top bar, and swinging like a monkey. She was showing off, as she was want to do, but the other kids were always so impressed by her brave stunts, and she loved the attention.

However, with no other kids around, there was no attention to be found. Normally Cassie would praise her on how acrobatic she was, but instead, she was on the wooden picnic table nestled in the grass just outside the perimeter of the playground, talking with Jack. Harley felt something like jealously flush through her, and her cheeks turned red from both anger and exertion. She grunted as she let go of the bars, landing solidly amongst the woodchips beneath her. She watched the two of them, Cassie with her elbows propped against the splintered table as the sun shone on her hair, turning it brilliant shades of fiery red. Jack was watching her, listening, as she rattled on about . . . whatever it was she was rattling about. Harley couldn't have cared less.

With drooping shoulders she trudged towards the brightly painted red tunnel which connected one jungle gym to the other, sprawling herself on her back inside of it. It was hot to the touch from the humid rays of the sun, but she welcomed the burning heat against her bare arms and legs.

She could still hear Cassie talking from the picnic table just a few yards away. She sighed and turned onto her side, watching through one of the small, oval-shaped holes as Cassie grinned at Jack, twirling her hair as she talked.

_Now I have nobody_, she thought bitterly. Miss Lenora and Cassie were the only ones who had ever paid attention to her, and now that Jack was here, with Cassie so hopelessly captivated by him, and Miss Lenora gone... Harley felt lonelier than ever.

She lay down on her back again and stared up at the roof of the tunnel. All the neighborhood kids had scratched their names into the red plastic, and Harley easily spotted Allan's name, bigger than everyone else's and traced over in black permanent marker. She made a face at the name and spit her tongue out. She was still mad at him for pinning her to the ground. Try as she might though, she still found herself even angrier at Jack who had embarrassed her in front of everyone by "saving" her.

_Ugh._ She cringed just thinking about it.

"Harley?"

Upon hearing her name, Harley started and rolled onto her belly, facing the person who had addressed her. It was Guy, and he was kneeling on the other side of the tunnel, looking at her curiously. "Hi," he said.

"What do you want?" she snapped. Guy was just as much as to blame as Allan was, even if he hadn't partaken in torturing her.

"I'm sorry about the other day, Harley," he said carefully, looking down at his shoes. "I didn't want you to get hurt . . . ."

He trailed off and Harley stared at him, propping her chin atop her folded arms. She didn't speak.

Hesitantly, Guy decided to sit, but Harley scooted back a ways and patted the space in front of her. He joined her, ducking his head to crawl inside the tunnel and then sitting Indian style in front of her.

"You look pretty today," he said shyly, so quiet she could hardly hear him.

Harley shrugged, not thinking much of his compliment. "My mom hates it when I wear my hair like this," was all she could think of to say. She flipped onto her back so she was staring at the roof of the tunnel again, her hands folded over her tummy.

Guy pressed his lips together and scooted forward. "Well, I like it," he continued. Carefully, he touched a strand of her hair and twirled it around his finger. It was really soft. He swallowed thickly. "Harley . . ."

"Have you ever hated someone?" she interrupted, her voice squeaky and not at all as vengeful as she wanted it to sound, unaware that Guy had been preparing to confess his love for her.

"I—I don't know," he stuttered, caught off guard by her question. "My mom says I shouldn't hate anybody."

Harley made a face. "Why?"

"I don't know... who do you hate?"

"Ugh." Harley threw an arm over her eyes tragically. "Jack," she spat. "He's living in my house."

"Oh." Guy let go of Harley's hair. "Allan was talking about that."

Harley suddenly stiffened. She twisted and faced Guy, her knees pulled to her chest. "What did he say?"

Shrugging, Guy let out a small sigh. He didn't want to talk about Allan. "He doesn't like Jack. I dunno why." Harley stared at her sneakers without a word, deep in thought as she traced her fingers over the purple laces. "Hey," he started, a bit cautiously because of his nerves, "do you wanna come over to my house later? Me and Peter are gonna make popsicles."

Peter was Guy's older brother—in college—and was home for the summer since school was out, looking for a job. Harley had only ever seen him once or twice outside Guy's house, mowing the lawn or pulling into the driveway in his old, beat-up car. You could hear the engine tinkering the moment he turned onto the street. Peter seemed nice enough, though. And making popsicles sounded awfully tempting on a day so hot . . . .

"_Harley_!"

With a groan, the small girl rolled her eyes at the sound of Cassie's voice. She didn't know when she had become so annoyed with her babysitter, but suddenly she didn't want to have anything to do with her. She felt betrayed by her, that she had shown more interest in Jack rather than Harley's tricks on the monkey bars that she had seen countless times.

"What!" she shouted back, causing Guy to wince. She crawled out of the tunnel through the opposite end and Guy did the same, poking his head out to see what all the commotion was about.

"There you are!" Cassie sighed, sounded irritated. "I thought you had run off."

"I'm not a _dog_," Harley grumbled, deftly sliding down the red fireman's pole to the ground. Guy followed suit, but decided to use the ladder instead.

"Well, anyways, we're going back home. It's too hot out," she complained, pushing her hair behind her so her shoulders were bared. Harley could tell that they were starting to turn pink amidst all of her freckles.

"Well, I'm going to Guy's house and we're going to make popsicles," Harley replied as if it were the best thing in the world, and that Cassie and Jack should be over the moon with all of their envy.

Cassie shrugged. "Just be back before five."

Harley's shoulders slumped at Cassie's words. She had been expecting a little bit more of a reaction. Nevertheless, she was determined to have a good time at Guy's house.

They walked the short distance to his house as Cassie and Jack crossed the street to walk back to Harley's. She watched as they walked the steps to her porch and then disappeared behind the door. She wondered what they were going to do together. Guy's unusually excited voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"What color popsicle do you want?" he chattered, practically bouncing as he walked beside her. "We have all sorts of different colors to choose from. And Peter knows how to mix the food dye to make even more colors!"

"Can he make pink?" she wanted to know. "Pink's my favorite color."

Guy's home was a cool relief from the scorching rays of the sun, and Harley sighed tiredly as she wiped the sweaty strands of hair that had fallen from her pigtails off the back of her neck. Guy's home was a small, but modest split-level house. There was a small space of hardwood just inside the door where you could leave your shoes, and then two sets of stairs. One going up, and the other going down.

"Peter's room is downstairs, when he's not at school," Guy explained. "And the laundry room, too."

Harley slipped out of her sneakers and left them next to Guy's as she followed him downstairs, gripping the railing. It was awfully dark. Guy led her past the laundry room and then knocked on what she assumed was Peter's bedroom door. She could hear rock music coming from the inside.

When the door opened, a tall, lanky boy stood looking down at that the two of them, smiling. "Hey, buddy," Peter said, tussling Guy's hair. "Who's this?" he asked, nodding towards the little girl who was staring up at him with curious eyes.

Guy smiled and looked towards Harley with adoration. "This is Harley. She's my friend," he said proudly.

"Your friend, huh?" Guy nodded enthusiastically. "Is your friend going to make popsicles with us?"

"Only if you know how to make pink ones," Harley announced. "It's my favorite color."

"Well then," Peter said, disappearing for a moment to turn off his blaring music. When he returned, he smiled warmly at them. "Let's see what we can do."

Guy and Harley led the way up the stairs as Peter followed behind them. In the kitchen, he turned on the radio and the three of them got straight to work. Because Harley was adamant about her pink popsicles, Peter made a jug of lemonade and Harley helped him poor it into the plastic popsicle cartridge before inserting it into the freezer. They made red popsicles next using cherry Kool-Aid and then decided to make lunch while they waited for them to freeze.

Peter fixed them turkey sandwiches with potato chips on the side and the three of them carried their paper plates out on the back porch to eat. The sun was still just as hot, but Harley didn't mind now that she had a cool glass of water to drink.

She listened as Peter told them all about his experiences at college and the kinds of things he did. He was working at a car repair shop now during the summer, but he had a bright future ahead of him, from what Harley could tell. He said he was going to become an accountant. She didn't know what that was, exactly, but it sounded impressive.

When they finished their lunch, Peter let the two of them play with his portable CD player, and Guy brought out some of his favorite CDs to listen to as Harley pressed her cheek to his and they put on his headphones to share.

Guy was a bundle of nervous energy—Harley had never seen him talk so much. He rambled excitedly about his favorite songs, and Harley was just as eager to chime in with hers. She was beginning to realize that she liked Guy. She had always thought he was the most boring of the bunch, because he was so quiet and shy and never spoke up. But this was a whole new side to him. She smiled to herself as she finished off her popsicle, thoroughly pleased with her afternoon and convinced that Guy just might be the new best friend she was looking for.

"You're fun," Harley concluded as she sighed happily, brushing her long hair over her shoulder. "We should play again tomorrow."

"Really?" Guy flushed, trying his hardest not to seem overly excited.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter watched the two of them with just the hint of a smile. He knew his little brother had a crush on Harley. He only talked about her nonstop.

"Yeah," Harley agreed, getting to her feet. "I should probably go home now though. My mom's gonna be home soon." She sighed heavily and undid her pigtails, letting her hair fall to shoulders. "See ya! And thanks for the popsicles," she added.

Guy waved, too love struck to say anything else, and Peter nudged him in the back with his rolled up paper plate. "Walk her to the door," he whispered.

"Harley, wait!" Guy followed her back into the house and met her at the front door as she was slipping on her sneakers. She turned to look at him as she opened the door. "Do you want to play again tomorrow? I... I'll show you our secret hideout."

Inwardly, Harley gasped, shocked that Guy would betray his friends and show her Allen's super secret hideout. She glanced back across the street to where she could see her mother pulling into the driveway. "I'll be there," she promised.

Guy watched her race down the steps and back to her own house, not even bothering to look both ways before crossing the street. _She's so brave_, Guy thought, even if the word he was really searching for was more along the lines of 'reckless'.

* * *

When Harley arrived home, Cassie had already left, and Jack was nowhere to be found. Inside the doorway, Harley smoothed out her hair and took off her sneakers before wandering into the kitchen. It was dusk now, and the sliding glass door by the dining room table was aglow from the yellowed rays of the sun setting just in the distance. Sharon was in front of the counter sifting through the mail, shaking her head at the front headlines of _The Gotham Times._

"Hi momma," Harley greeted, hugging her mother's waist from behind.

Sharon turned and inspected her daughter with scrutinizing eyes. "What on earth is all over your shirt?"

"I was at Guy's house. We made popsicles!" she exclaimed.

"Well you made a mess," her mother said with a tired sigh. "Go change and put it in the wash. We can only hope those stains aren't permanent. That was an expensive shirt, Harleen."

"Sorry," Harley said, but only half-heartedly. It wasn't like _she_ had paid for it. She didn't even really like it...

"I picked up your invitations today, by the way," her mother announced from over her shoulder as she began pulling last night's dinner from the fridge.

"For my birthday?" she squealed.

"You'll need to give me a list of all the friends you want to invite so we can mail them. Maybe some girls from school?"

"Okay!"

Harley dashed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her room, snatching her journal out from beneath her bed and tearing out a blank page. After retrieving her favorite pink gel pen, she set to work writing down all the people she wanted to come to her party.

After she had taken the utmost care in writing down the names with her best handwriting, she looked at her list a bit disdainfully.

_Daddy_

_Cassie_

_Guy_

Who else was there to invite? She was sure that none of the girls from school would want to come.

With a frown, Harley suddenly realized that for the first time, Miss Lenora wasn't going to be there for her birthday. She was turning ten—which was practically an adult, in her eyes—and Miss Lenora was going to miss it.

Harley sighed and slumped against the side of her bed, pulling her knees to her chest. She was sitting on the floor, and the hardwood was cool beneath her bare feet. She frowned as she looked at her list. Her mother would want her to invite more people, that she knew.

She thought, for a moment, that she might invite Allan and the other boys on the street—but they'd just make a mess of everything. Besides, it was obvious that they weren't that interested in being her friend anyway.

She thought about Jack, then, and how he had embarrassed her in front of the other boys. She definitely didn't want _him_ at her party.

With narrowed eyes, she leaned forward and made sure to write NOT JACK in all capital letters with her bright pink pen, underlining the word 'not' repeatedly.

In the short time remaining before she was called down to dinner, she managed to write down the names of some girls from school who she thought might want to come to her party, or girls that she thought she might want to be friends with.

NOT JACK stared up at her angrily as she gazed at the list in front of her. For all it was worth, she hadn't even really spoken to Jack much in the past few days since he'd arrived. He made it a point of keeping to himself; Harley wasn't sure what he spent so much time doing in his room, but he rarely came out, and was always quiet. It was like he wasn't even there.

That was until dinner time, at least, when Sharon would urge him out of his room so he could sift through the food on his plate with cold, empty eyes. They didn't speak then, either, even if the eye contact they shared was voracious. It spoke more than enough, in Harley's opinion. Her angry eyes meeting his dark ones; nothing more needed to be said.

Little did Harley know, however, that was all about to change. Her relationship with Jack was about to take a drastic turn that neither of them had been expecting.

And it started with Cassie only a month later.

It was the middle of summer, in July. The heat was unbearable—as it was wont to be in Gotham—and the very thought of doing anything outside was unbearable. In fact, Sharon had ordered Cassie that no one was to leave the house for more than ten minutes to go outside. Three children and two adults in the immediate area had already been rushed to the hospital due to heat exhaustion. Sharon didn't want the same to happen to Harley or Jack. Even the weather man had advised against going outside if it could be avoided. In short, the heat was bad.

Harley, Cassie, and Jack spent all day cooped up inside the house—not that that was anything new to Jack—but for Harley was it was absolute torture.

"_Ugh_! I'm going stir-crazy!" she dramatically announced as she flopped face first into the couch.

Cassie rolled her eyes. "Harley, you don't even know what that means."

"I just want to go _outsideee_," she whined in response. She lifted her head to stare out the window towards Guy's house, imagining that he was sitting by the window as well and doing the same as her. She was positively itching to see him so Guy could take her on the trek to see the boys' secret hideout. It looked like now that was going to have to wait.

She watched TV for most of the morning, which was fine, but TV got boring after a while, especially when she had already seen all the episodes three times over. When the television lost her interest, Cassie would indulge her in a few board games—especially Trouble, because that was Harley's favorite—but those never lasted long; when it became clear that Cassie was going to win, Harley put a hand over her mouth and yawned that she was tired of playing.

When she decided she was going to lie down for a bit in her room, she passed Jack as he was coming down the stairs and made a blatant point of avoiding any physical contact with him, sliding herself sideways along the wall so she wouldn't have to touch him.

Jack, however, didn't even glance at her, which Harley thought was awfully rude. She stopped and watched through the wooden bars of the stairwell railing as he took a seat on the couch next to Cassie. She was wearing a yellow sundress that day and her usually curly red hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail that trailed down her back and hung between her shoulder blades. She looked pretty.

Harley, naturally, thought nothing of it when Jack went to sit on the couch next to her. They began talking—Cassie carrying the weight of the conversation, as usual—and Harley retreated into her room, not interested in watching them talk.

She still felt a strange twinge of jealousy inside her about their budding friendship. Why did Jack want to be Cassie's friend and not hers? Was she not pretty enough? Was she not old enough? Harley didn't understand it.

_Why does nobody like me?_

When she returned downstairs only a little while later to retrieve a juice box, she was shocked to find Cassie and Jack still on the couch— but now they were _kissing_. Her foot hung suspended in the air above the next step, too shocked to move.

She was dumfounded. She knew Cassie and Jack were good friends but she didn't know they _liked_ each other. She retreated to her room and slammed the door with a bang before they could notice her watching. She breathed hard as she leaned against the door, suddenly feeling more alone and confused than ever.

She couldn't wrap her brain around it. What did Cassie see in Jack, anyways? She was always drooling over those boy bands in the magazines with spiky hair and cool clothes—neither things of which Jack possessed. In fact, he was quite plain looking. And she hated that scar on his lower lip. The dark purple scab had long since faded or maybe been torn off—and now he was left with a deep, y-shaped scar. How could Cassie like _that_?

The following weekend, Nick was out of town and Sharon had various meetings to attend, and thus wouldn't be home much. Because Cassie was only available to babysit on Friday and Sunday that weekend, Sharon arranged for Harley to spend Saturday at Guy's house. Peter was going to be home and could look after them since he didn't work on the weekends.

It was decided that Jack was going to stay home alone.

Harley was more excited than she had been in weeks. Early Saturday morning, she was up at the crack of dawn alongside her mother, combing her hair and then French braiding it into one long strand that fell down her back (Miss Lenora had taught her how) and changing into a while t-shirt, some old blue-jean overalls, and a dirty pair of Converse sneakers. She knew that Guy was planning on taking her to the boys' Secret Hideout, and thus she was likely to get very muddy. After dumping out the textbooks, pencil shavings, and markers stuffed in her school backpack, she replaced them with an extra pair of clothes instead, just in case.

At seven AM sharp, Sharon drove Harley over to Guy's house (even though it was right across the street) as Harley wiggled her toes impatiently, her backpack stuffed full of exciting things and weighing heavily on her lap; she couldn't quite see over the dashboard because of it.

The second they were in the driveway, she quickly opened the door and heaved her backpack onto the ground so she could maneuver the straps over her shoulder.

Sharon gracefully exited the car, smoothing out her skirt as her heels clicked against the sidewalk towards the front door. "Come on, Harleen, don't dawdle. I've got to get to work."

Upon ringing the doorbell, it took only a few moments for Peter to arrive. He was dressed in striped pajama pants and a white t-shirt he had clearly just thrown on—Harley could tell because he hadn't pulled it down all the way in the back, leaving some of his skin exposed. Harley looked up at him and smiled brightly whilst trying to contain her blush. He was so _handsome_.

"Morning Mrs. Quinzel," Peter greeted her.

"Good morning, Peter," Sharon smiled brightly. "Good to see you again. Home for the summer?"

"Yes ma'm. Just working at the repair shop and spending my free time with Guy."

Sharon nodded in understanding. "Well, Harley's awfully excited to spend the day with him, aren't you, darling?"

Harley nodded and tried to push her way into the house, wishing her mother would just leave already.

Peter playfully grabbed hold of her braid and pulled her back. "Hey, squirt, aren't you going to say 'bye' first?"

Harley rolled her eyes and sighed, standing on her tip-toes to give her mother a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I'll see you later tonight, Harleen."

"K!"

After her mother had pulled out of the driveway, Peter closed the door and took Harley's backpack from her, gesturing for her to head up the stairs. He followed behind her and feigned to be out of breath.

"Geez, Harley, you carrying bricks in here or something?"

"Of course not!"

"Hey, you never know," Peter laughed and set her backpack in the living room.

Harley took a seat on the recliner that Peter had been sitting in before she arrived and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Where's Guy?" she asked.

Peter sat opposite her on the couch, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. "He's still asleep. It's only seven o'clock, you know."

"I know," she said simply, tugging her lower lip into her mouth.

"Do you want breakfast or anything?" Peter asked.

"No, I already ate."

"Alright," Peter shrugged. "Just let me know if you get hungry." With that he pulled his legs onto the couch and lay down, flipping through the channels until settling on some Saturday morning cartoons.

Harley watched for a while in silence, but when Peter drifted off to sleep she became restless. Quietly she stood from the recliner and tiptoed her way towards the hall. After locating the bathroom, Mr. And Mrs. Alder's room, and the hall closet, she finally opened the door to Guy's room. The white, plastic blinds over the single window were drawn closed, and shades of gray colored the room. Guy was still sleeping, his fire-engine red bed sheets pulled up to his chin. Harley smiled to herself and crept closer, easing herself onto the bed. It dipped slightly with her weight. She poked him in the side.

"Hey... hey, wake up."

Guy moaned and turned onto his side, facing away from her, and pulled the covers over his head. "Peterit'stooearly," he groaned.

Harley giggled. "It's not Pe-ter," she sing-songed.

That got a reaction out of him, and he turned around and bolted upright, looking at Harley with wide eyes. She was sitting on his bed and staring at him and... and she looked like an angel. For a moment he wasn't sure if he was dreaming.

"Hi," he said, a bit unsure. He sat up straighter and blinked the sleep away from his eyes, offering Harley a kind smile.

She smiled back and scooted closer. "So," she began, "are you going to take me to the Secret Hideout or what?"

Guy only grinned, and that was all the response that Harley needed. She waited outside the bathroom door for him to change out of his PJs and brush his teeth, tapping her foot impatiently.

When he was done, they put together a bag of things they thought they might need when they got there. They scourged his room for a pair of binoculars, craft scissors (you never knew when a pair of scissors might come in handy), some of Guy's plastic green army men, and a world map that Guy borrowed from his parent's bedroom. Lastly they made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and secured them in plastic baggies for later in case they got hungry.

After Peter had instructed them to be careful, they set off towards the Secret Hideout, and Harley nearly skipped the whole way. It was nine o'clock now, and the sun was inching its way further into the blue sky. It was bound to be another hot summer day.

When they passed Allan's house, Harley wondered whether they should have taken a different route.

Guy assured her they were fine. "Allan's at his cousin's house. He'll be gone all day."

A few blocks later, when they passed Miss Lenora's house, Harley was silent. She stared at the familiar blue shutters and the large, oval glass window in the center of the door. Nobody had moved in yet, and for that Harley was glad. It was easier that way to imagine all of Miss Lenora's things right where she had left them. Her knitting basket would still be by her bedside, the remote for her TV would be in the small, wicker basket she had made herself, and all of her books would be neatly arranged on the shelf in the living room. Miss Lenora loved to read.

They paused to take in the garden—which was still blooming even after her death—and somehow it made the house seem alive. As if she might still be in there baking treats in her kitchen with the windows open, listening to the birds sing.

"I know you miss her," Guy broke the silence, his voice soft and small and not at all unwanted.

Harley didn't quite know what to say. She wasn't used to expressing sadness in public, least of all in front of someone like Guy. But something told her she could trust him, that he wouldn't tease her or make fun of her if she spoke from her heart.

"Sometimes I cry," was all she could say.

Guy looked at her, then looked back at the garden. A blue jay had just landed on the porch railing. "Everybody cries," he replied, hoping it would make her feel less alone to know that she wasn't the only one. He knew it wasn't much, but somehow, for Harley, it was more than enough. She couldn't have realized it at the time, but those two words had provided just the closure she needed. Her parents had tried to sweep the situation under the rug, pretend like Miss Lenora had never happened, but Guy hadn't done that, and for that Harley felt a certain warmth spread through her heart that she hadn't felt in quite some time. Turning, she grabbed Guy's hand, much to his wide-eyed surprise, and smiled.

"Let's hurry."

Lenora's house was the very last house on the street, and once they had cut through her side yard, they had free access to the woods. It was a tangled maze of trees and vines and fallen branches, and to Harley it was like the jungles she had seen in the movies, like in Tarzan, only there weren't giant apes roaming around. She promised herself she'd keep an eye out for them anyway. Just in case.

Guy's palm was warm in hers and starting to sweat, but she didn't mind. She didn't want to lose him as he confidently guided her along towards their destination.

"What if the other boys are here?" she suddenly wondered.

"They won't be. Thomas and Shane would never come here without Allan's permission."

"Oh... why?"

"Because those are the rules," he replied, as if that explained everything.

"So... does that mean that you're breaking the rules?" she asked, trying to connect the dots.

Guy paused and looked at her. "Yeah," he said at last, a bit sheepishly.

Harley grinned at him. "Well, I _like_ breaking the rules."

With that, they raced further into the woods until Harley had to stop and was panting for breath.

"How much farther?" She bent down and put her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

"Look around," Guy said proudly. She looked up to see him slide the backpack off his shoulder, and then looked further to see that they had entered a small clearing.

The Secret Hideout was _beautiful_.

Harley had never seen anything more perfect. By utilizing some wooden pallets and old scraps of metal, wood, and various tree branches, they had built a decent sized fort that was unlike anything Harley had ever seen. And just past it, there was a small slope that led down to a creek she had never known existed. Water was gushing from a waterfall they had made using branches and stones, and Harley was awed by it. The ground, barren of leaves because they had raked them away, was cool beneath her shoes.

"This is the coolest place ever!" She exclaimed.

Guy watched her, smiling stupidly. "Wanna go inside?"

Harley snapped back to attention and smiled. "Yeah!"

Dragging the backpack behind him, he led her inside where they had to duck their heads to fit. Harley was amazed at how much work they had done, and Guy was beaming as he showed it off to her, noting the red lantern they'd taken from Shane's garage, the buckets they used to collect water from the creek, and the old towels they had found and used as seat covers for the logs they had fashioned into benches. The fort itself was divided into three rooms, and in the center they had dug a small hole they pretended was a fire pit.

"We can't really build a fire in here," Guy explained. "The fort would catch on fire."

"Of course," Harley agreed, even though that though that thought had never occurred to her.

For the rest of the afternoon, Harley and Guy were explorers—the two most famous and fearless explorers in the entire world—and were hunting for the infamous buried treasure of Cortez. Neither one of them knew who Cortez was—but Harley had explained that she'd heard about some kind of pirate treasure in a movie once, and Guy was happy to go along with the storyline.

They scourged the woods for the treasure of Cortez and even fought some wild Indian natives and were, at one point, chased by dinosaurs. It was the most fun Harley had had in months, and she expressed as much to Guy when they were huddled in the fort nibbling on their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

"There's something else I want to show you," Guy told her when they had finished.

"What is it?"

Guy didn't say anything as he ushered her out of the fort and towards the creek. They had to step on stones to make it to the other side, and Guy was mentally preparing himself for his heroic rescue of Harley should she happen to fall in. The creek wasn't that deep, of course, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

When they reached the other side of the creek, the woods had become visibly more tangled. The trees had grown closer together and the underbrush was thick with thorn bushes and pine needles.

But then, just ahead, Harley caught sight of something that took her breath away.

It was a small, dilapidated shed with a single wooden door and no windows.

"What is this place?" she wondered, her voice filled with awe.

"We found it a few weeks ago. Scary, huh?"

"Yeah... "

She stared at it in silence as they approached. With the trees so thick overhead, the sun was practically shut out, and no light shone on the dark, wooden shed. It was eerie looking, to say the least.

When she stood a few feet away from the door, Guy standing not far off behind her, Harley felt a strange bout of fear wash over her. She wasn't normally one to be afraid—in fact in most cases she was quite fearless—but something about this shed just didn't feel right.

"Let's go back," she said, hoping that Guy would ignore the waiver in her voice.

"There's nothing inside there," he promised. "Allan checked himself. But we'll go back."

She heard him turn around, and just as she was about to as well, a hand suddenly slammed against her mouth, barely stifling her scream.

"_Boo_."

Guy spun, his eyes widening in horror upon seeing Harley held captive by none other than two of his best friends, Shane and Thomas.

And just then, to top it all off, Allan himself stepped around from the back of the shed, his arms folded against his chest. He looked angry.

"He—hey," Guy's voice trembled. He wasn't very good when it came to standing up for himself. "What are you doing? Let her go!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Allan announced, none too kindly.

"Yeah!" Thomas chimed in, holding a struggling Harley in his arms while Shane had her other. "You're in big trouble!"

"I—I can explain—"

"Explain what?" Allan interrupted Guy. "Explain that you betrayed us so you could impress a stupid _girl_?"

"It's not like that!"

Allan stepped forward, laying heavy hands on Guy's shoulders and whispering to him. "She made you do it, didn't she? I should have known as much. It's _her_ fault."

"No!" Guy insisted. "It's—"

But the words died on his tongue when Harley bit Thomas's hand, to which he drew back his hand and she screamed out. "Let go of me!" She writhed and kicked her legs angrily, but Thomas and Shane were much bigger than her, and she was clearly no match for them.

Allan smiled at Harley, and then turned back to Guy. "Don't worry," he promised his friend. "We'll take care of her once and for all."

Guy's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, and he was torn from wanting to run forward and save Harley from the wrath of his friends... or turning in the opposite direction and running for his life.

"I'm not afraid of you!" Harley boldly proclaimed, kicking her legs in defiance.

Allan laughed and stepped closer to her so he could look into her eyes. She stared up at him, scowling, as he reached for her braid and brought it over her shoulder. He held on tight to it as he spoke. "I warned you before about playing with the boys, Harley. Now I'm really going to have to teach you a lesson."

Harley snarled at him, barring her teeth like some kind of vicious animal, and Allan _laughed_ at her.

"Harley, you're such a _girl_! You don't scare me!"

Harley's face was burning in humiliation at his taunt, so she did the next best thing she could think of.

She spit on him.

All at once, the boys' laughter died, and Harley knew she had made a grave mistake. Almost as if in slow motion, she saw Allan's hand draw back to strike her, and she closed her eyes and tried not to scrunch her face. She'd take the hit like a man.

But it never came.

Her eyes blinked open and she looked around. Nothing had changed. Then she looked at Allan, whose focus was fixed somewhere behind her, and she twisted her head to find Jack standing there, watching them. Before she could even think about it, she yelled out his name.

"Jack! _Please_!"

She didn't care about her vow to never speak to him again, or that she hated his guts, or that he was embarrassing her. Her fear outweighed all other thoughts and all she wanted was to get away.

Jack didn't say anything as he stepped forward, and everyone stared at him.

"How did _he_ get here?" Shane whined, looking to Allan for an explanation.

When they were face-to-face, Allan spoke. "What do you want, Jack? Come to rescue Harley again?"

Jack was silent.

"You know, you're real _pathetic_," Allan sneered. "You don't even have anything to say?"

Jack had turned away from him before Allan had even finished.

Without a word, he moved towards Shane and Thomas where Harley was still held captive between them. He attempted to pull her out of their grip without a fight, but neither Shane nor Thomas were willing to budge.

"This isn't going to be as easy as it was the first time, Jack."

Allan's voice sounded from directly behind Jack, and Harley's shrill, "Watch out!" came a second too late.

Allan's arms wrapped around Jack's neck, pulling him backwards to where they both landed in a pile of brush. They wrestled in the thorns as Harley shouted for Guy to help.

"Guy, do something, please!"

But Guy's legs were like stone pillars, and he couldn't move them if he tried. His palms were sweating furiously and in his moment of frozen panic he didn't know what to do.

So he and Harley watched, helplessly, as Allan pummeled Jack, who didn't seem to be fighting back at all. There was a strange look in his eyes, like he was detached from the whole thing. But a hard punch to Jack's ribs seemed to be the deciding blow, and when the wind was knocked out of him, his head fell back against the ground and Harley could only gasp.

"Put her in the shed!" Allan shouted.

"What? No!" Guy did step forward then, rushing past Allan where he stood over Jack, but he didn't make it far before Allan had pulled him back, grabbing the back of his shirt.

He threw Guy to the ground easily and then grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, demanding his attention as he leaned down over the younger boy. "We're putting them in the shed and _you're_ not going to say a word about it. I swear if you tell somebody I'll_ kill_ her, you got it?"

Guy was too frightened to reply, and with wide eyes he nodded.

Allan let him fall back into the ground and then went over to Jack, dragging his limp body towards the shed. Jack tried weakly to fight to him, but he was so disoriented he could hardly see straight.

For a moment, he thought he was back in his home, and his dad was dragging him towards the basement. His father had just hit him in the stomach with the broad side of a baseball bat, and he couldn't breathe. He knew fighting back would be futile, and that whatever punishment he tried to inflict on his father would only be returned to him in double. So he let himself be dragged towards the stairs even as he wheezed for breath.

Jack broke out of his hallucination only when he heard a blood-curdling scream and the world suddenly became dark around him. He thought he might be passing out until he realized he'd been dragged into the shed, and Harley was there with him, rushing towards the closing door as daylight slipped away.

"No! _Please_!"

It was the last thing Harley said before the door was slammed shut and the board outside fell into place, effectively trapping them. Harley screamed, and Jack's head fell back against the earthy-smelling floor in defeat.

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**__ Wow_. You guys are amazing. I am thoroughly stunned by the amount of positive feedback the first chapter has received. As I mentioned previously, this is my first Joker/Harley story, and I am so happy you guys seem so invested in it. Thank you all so much for the reviews, alerts, and favorites. To the anonymous reviewers, thank _you_ in particular for your kind and encouraging words. I can't privately message all of you as you're aware, so I just wanted to make sure that I took the time to thank you all.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

There weren't a lot of things that Harley was afraid of. In fact, there really wasn't anything that scared her at all; she thought herself fearless, and she knew she had the guts to prove it.

At school, she took every dare with eager hands and confident grins, never once thinking about the consequences, never once considering the possible dangers.

When the girls in her class had challenged her to climb the massive tree at recess, just outside the confines of their playground, Harley folded her arms across her chest.

"Piece of cake," she declared with her proudest smirk, as if climbing the old, enormous tree with the decaying branches wouldn't be a daunting task at all.

But climb it she did—even despite the constrictions of her uniform skirt, black Mary-Janes, and knee-high stockings.

And even though she hadn't made it to the top—Miss McAllister had made sure of that, when she'd found out about the dare and had come bursting out of the school and shrieked for Harley to come down—Harley had, at least, climbed farther and higher than any of the other girls had, and for that she felt immensely proud.

She'd even garnered a nickname out of the whole thing: Harley the Daredevil. She had been so giddy at the thought—at the very idea that the other girls had bestowed upon her a nickname—that she had hardly slept at all that night.

The name, of course, had been forgotten about the next morning by the other girls, and Harley sulked for a bit about it until later that afternoon, when the neighbor boys had made her another dare, which she accepted without hesitation.

It seemed as if nothing scared Harley; there was no tree too high, no place too dark, no challenge too crazy. She'd do anything.

Heck, she'd once swallowed a penny! She did think that was awfully daredevil-ish of herself, if she did say so.

However, there was _one_ thing, just one, that Harley realized she _was _scared of.

And it was the feeling of being trapped.

There, in the darkness of the shed, her unrealized fear came to life right before her very eyes, and she felt her breath hitch in the column of her throat, the darkness and the damp humidity suffocating her. She had to get out, she had to _go_.

Harley screamed for hours.

Jack didn't stop her. In fact, he didn't speak at all, and Harley stopped only when her throat was too raw too continue, and her voice refused to rise above a whisper. Her knuckles were scratched and bloody from beating on the wooden door. She sat against it now, slumped into a tight ball with her knees pulled up to her chest and her face buried in between them.

She was breathing hard, but Jack's ears were still ringing from the sheer pitch of her screams, and he could focus on nothing else. Slowly, he brought a hand to his face in the semi-darkness, feeling the dried blood beneath his nose from where Allan had punched him. It had crusted and it hurt to move his face. When he tongued at his upper lip, he tasted dirt and copper pennies. He thought his nose might be broken; wouldn't have been the first time.

"I don't wanna die," Harley sobbed suddenly, breaking the silence and choking on her words. "I don't wanna, _I can't_."

Jack didn't say anything, wincing as he lifted his back from the floor. When he rose to his feet, the floorboards creaked beneath him.

Harley jumped at the sound. "What are you doing!?" she shrieked. She stood also, her knees shaking so hard she could barely stand. She pressed her back against the door, searching the darkness for Jack's figure with her eyes.

"Sitting," was Jack's only reply. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears.

It was dark outside now, and the streams of sunlight that had previously managed to squeeze between the cracks of the shed had vanished. Nothing was visible.

To her right, Harley heard Jack shuffling towards the back wall, where apparently a bench was located. He felt around it for a moment with his hands, finding only dust, and eventually sat down, letting out a sigh.

Harley, meanwhile, remained rooted to her spot by the door. When her knees could no longer support her, she let herself crumple once again to the damp floor.

For a while, everything was silent. Harley tried distracting herself by listening to the crickets chirping outside, and the sound of cars, somewhere far, far away in the distance, but it was no use.

Time seemed to drag on for days, even though only hours had passed. She wondered what her mom and dad were doing, if they had realized she was missing and were out searching for her. Maybe they had called Cassie, and she was searching too.

She thought of Guy, then, and her heart sank deeper in her chest. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't bring herself to feel angry at him. She was too tired and worn out for that. Instead, she felt a deep sense of pity and remorse. He had wanted to help her, she could tell he had from the way his hands had clenched, as if itching to reach out . . . but his fear had stopped him, glued him to his tracks so he could do nothing but watch in horror. And now he really could do nothing, because if he dared tell anyone where she was, Allan would kill her.

So she pictured Guy at home, curled on his bed and in tears, regretting his decision to ever be friends with Allan and Shane and Thomas. They were bullies, and the only reason why Guy had befriended them was because he didn't want to be bullied too. Harley rested her head against her knees. She couldn't blame Guy. She had tried to befriend the three boys, too.

Hot tears stung at her eyes then, and she tried her hardest to hold them back, letting out a hiccupped sob instead. She thought about all the things she'd never see again the things she'd never do. She'd never see the sunlight pouring through her windows in the morning, never get the chance to perform another gymnastics routine in front of a rapt audience, never ride her bike down the street with Cassie, never become a ballerina, never hug her mom and dad again . . . .

She choked on a sob at the thought.

_Will they even miss me?_

The tears came unhindered then, and she couldn't stop them if even if she had tried.

When Jack spoke, his voice came as such a surprise she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Harley," he'd said, and she couldn't even remember the last time he'd said her name aloud. "Come 'ere."

His voice, soft, gentle, and spoken not at all like she was so used to hearing from him, made her blink back her tears in surprise. She swallowed, wiping them away with the back of her hand, and rose to her feet.

"Where are you?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Right here. Keep coming."

It was strange, hearing him talk this way, but Harley was too distraught to question him, too frightened to be angry and never speak to him again, as she had once promised herself.

She put her hands out in front of her to guide her, lest she bump into something, but the shed was empty, and when she reached him, jumping when their hands touched, he snatched them in a vice. For one horrible, heart pounding moment, she thought he would snap her wrists in two, right there in front of her, but then she realized he had only grabbed her to get her to stop shaking.

"It's okay," he whispered.

Harley nodded, yet still she trembled under his grip. She couldn't see him in the dark, but somehow she felt he was staring directly into her eyes.

Without another word, he took her wrists and guided her to the seat next to him. She sat down on the rickety bench, feeling the dust beneath the backs of her bare legs, and tried in vain to keep from shaking.

Jack made to let go of her wrists once she had sat down, but she reached out for him without even thinking, her hands grabbing for his much larger ones.

"Please," she made to ask, but even as her lips formed the words, no sound would come from her dry, parched throat. She swallowed and licked her lips, trying again. "Please don't."

Jack didn't say anything, but he did not push her hands away, either. So she held on tight, needing to feel his warmth, his presence there in the darkness.

Her fear became a little less intolerable then, now that she knew she had Jack.

But the night continued to wear on, and with it, the warmth from earlier that day began to dissipate. She shivered as the night air crept in around her, and she knew Jack was cold too from the way the hairs on his arm were standing on end. She could feel goose bumps on his arm. She let herself scoot a fraction closer to him, and he either didn't notice or didn't care, but she thought she felt his hand tighten around hers, just slightly.

It was hours later when Harley woke with a startled gasp.

She was lying on the bench on her side, her legs tucked beneath her and her hand propped under her head as a makeshift pillow. Jack was resting his head against the wall, and in the early light of the morning that had crept through the wood cracks, Harley could see that his eyes were closed. He was fast asleep.

For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was, or how she had gotten there . . . and then her sleepy eyes wandered around the shed and she felt her heart sink down to the pit of her stomach.

It hadn't been a dream.

She let out a heavy exhale and felt angry tears stinging at the backs of her eyes._I __should have fought harder! _She should have kicked and screamed, she should have punched Thomas in the mouth and twisted Shane's skinny arms behind his back until they broke. And as for Allan . . . she wanted to pin him to the ground as he had done her and punch him until his eyes were black and blue and he saw stars.

Harley licked her lips, tasting the salt of her tears as they trailed down her face, and eventually lay back down, resting her head next to Jack's legs. She drifted back to sleep then, hugging her arms around her waist to keep warm.

When she woke for a second time, it was to find the bench empty, and that the shed had turned stifling hot. Jack was nearby, pacing the floorboards with his head down. The sleeves of his t-shirt had been rolled up to his shoulders, and sweat clung to his skin. Harley's own clothes felt sticky as well. She longed to feel the fresh air on her skin, and a cool drink of water to quench her throat. She'd settle for the nearby creek water, if she had to. If she listened closely, she could hear it trickling in the distance, and it made her throat long for water even more.

"Jack," she croaked. She shifted so she was sitting up, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "I'm thirsty."

Jack's chest rose and fell, but his sigh was inaudible, as if he just didn't have the energy for it. He did not stop pacing.

"I know," he said.

Harley let her shoulders slump, wondering what time it was. It was only going to get hotter as the day went on. How long had they been trapped? She was starting to get hungry, and her belly growled constantly in want of food.

She lay her head back down and watched Jack pace with the little light they were given. She watched the way his hands clenched and unclenched into angry fists, and the way the sweat dripped down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. He paused only to look at her every so often, as if to make sure she was still alive and breathing.

Harley got up once to stretch her legs and even attempted to pry open the door once more, but it was no use, and they both knew it. The shed had never been intended to be opened from the inside.

Later during the afternoon, when they had both retreated to the bench, too hot and too weak to do anything but sit and wither away in the miserable, torrid heat, Harley's eyes widened in shock when she heard the sound of a branch breaking not far away.

She raced to the door, pressing her ear against it and listening hard.

When she looked back at Jack, she noticed he had hardly moved an inch.

"Didn't you hear that?" she cried, but Jack shook his head.

"Hello?" she called out, cupping her hands to her mouth so her voice would travel farther. "Please, somebody help us!"

She slammed her bloodied knuckles against the door, over and over and over again, but whoever had made the noise was not coming to rescue them.

She realized then that it had probably been a squirrel, or the wind that had created the noise. Perhaps she had imagined it.

Harley was too worn out to cry. And so another afternoon came and went. She thought about home, and food, and her parents, and her clean sheets and comfy bed, and especially of Miss Lenora, but no more tears would come. She slumped against the bench in defeat and closed her eyes. Jack was doing the same.

It wasn't until it had grown dark again that Harley spoke, her voice fragile and scared.

"Jack?"

She thought maybe he had fallen asleep, but he shifted a little, letting her know he had heard. It took him a moment before he was able to gather his voice.

"Yeah?"

She swallowed her own spit, needing it to coat the back of her dried throat. "I—I'm sorry I said I hated you. I didn't mean what I said." She felt her voice crack, but she continued on. "When I apologized to you before . . . I wasn't sorry. I just wanted . . . I just wanted to be your friend." She sniffled, but quickly went on. "But I really am sorry now. I'm so, so sorry."

Jack listened in silence, coating his lips with his tongue. His mouth felt as dry as the desert and his throat ached. He shifted in his seat, leaning his head back against the wall. He made a noise in the back of his throat, a weak attempt at a laugh that would not come.

"I don't want you to apologize," he said at last.

Harley felt a shiver run through her at his words. It was the most he had spoken to her since they had been trapped together.

"Why?" she whispered.

"Don't be sorry for the way you _feel_." She heard him turn towards her. "Don't ever apologize for that."

"But I... I really mean it this time."

Crickets chirped and frogs croaked in the woods around them, creating a peaceful symphony in the otherwise aberrant silence, but the only thing Harley could hear was Jack's voice.

"Maybe you do," he shrugged.

"I just don't want you to hate me."

Jack turned away, and Harley realized she was holding her breath as she waited for his response.

He smiled to himself like she'd just told some joke that only he could understand, and then leaned his head back against the wall once more, closing his eyes.

"I don't," he said at last.

After that, they didn't speak for a while, and Harley felt so dizzy from exhaustion she didn't know if she'd be able to voice her thoughts even if she'd wanted to. All that mattered was that he didn't hate her. If Harley hadn't been so scared and tired, she might have smiled, or jumped up in down in her excitement; as it was, she didn't even know if she had the energy to stand.

Jack, in the mean time, had gotten up to pace, and a while later, when it had grown dark, she listened to him work at prying open a loose board, and then later trying to open the door, grunting occasionally in his exertion and then slamming his fist against it in his anger. It was hopeless.

He paced some more after that, needing to feel the muscles working in his legs, needing to get his blood flowing, needing to calm down. The heat was making him mad.

A while later, when the shed was pitch black and she could no longer keep quiet, Harley spoke.

"I don't feel good, Jack," she whined. She pulled her knees to her chest and clutched at them as she lay on the bench. Her head was throbbing, and she was starving. Her stomach felt like a hollow pit. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd eaten. She'd give anything for just a bite of an apple, or a piece of bread . . . even an end piece would suit her just fine, and she hated those.

When the hunger pains grew worse, she started to cry, except, this time, there were no tears, only an awful, dry heaving sob that made her throat constrict and her lungs flutter wildly, as if they were a pair of birds desperate to be set free from the confines of her chest. She gasped and choked on her own breath, hysterical at the thought that she'd die there in the shed, that she'd never be free, that she'd starve and her bones would wither away into nothing but rotted veins and pale dust.

And when Jack came to her at last, she cried even more, crawling into his lap and sobbing into his chest. He didn't say anything for a while, and unconsciously he traced his fingers over her blood-dried knuckles and still-tender bruises, cruel parting gifts from when she had beat her fists against the door.

When she had calmed down to only sniffles, Harley could hear Jack's stomach growling, and she realized then that he was in just as much pain as she was. She reached out for his hand and didn't let go.

He didn't either.

"Hey Jack?" Harley had to clear her throat before she could get her voice to work, and even then her words came out only as a mere whisper.

"Hm?"

"What do you dream about? What kinds of things make you happy?" Harley turned onto her back so she was staring into Jack's bowed face, her head resting in his lap.

Jack's hands fell to his sides as he contemplated his answer. He recognized the fact that she didn't care what he said—not really—and mostly just wanted to hear the sound of someone else's voice. A distraction from the moment.

"I don't know," he said at last. "Dumb things, mostly." _Fires_, he thought to himself. And tendon cords and flesh-eating parasites and black smoke that strangled your lungs and bullets that chased you in the dark. "Nightmares," he clarified. "Things you wouldn't want to hear about."

"Then tell me something I would want to hear about." The desperation in her voice was evident. "Please?"

Jack thought long and hard, quickly distinguishing the good memories from the bad, being that the former were few and in between.

"I went to the circus once," he began after a while, recalling a memory so old he'd nearly forgotten it. "It was really sunny that day. And hot. And we… we went in this big, red circus tent to cool off, and there elephants and acrobats and tigers that could leap through rings of fire." Jack swallowed as he remembered all the performances and dazzling tricks. "And there were these clowns. They were dressed in colorful outfits and had paint on their faces. And they made everybody laugh. I'd never seen… seen everyone so happy. My mom was happy. I'd never seen her smile so big…."

"What happened to your mom?" Harley whispered.

"She left."

Harley didn't know how to respond to that, so she didn't, and instead let herself curl closer to him.

She drifted in and out of sleep after that, dreaming fitfully and hallucinating sounds and smells that weren't really there. Jack was holding her hand, though, and so she let herself drift off once again.

She had odd, indecipherable dreams. Dreams where Allan and Shane and Thomas were taunting her and chasing her through the desert. She ran and ran, but her legs seemed to be weighed down by some invisible substance, as if she were running through molasses. And no matter how far or how fast she ran, she could never escape the boys' advances, and in the desert, there was nowhere for her to hide. Her only escape were the cliffs, and that is where she was falling, falling, falling, when suddenly she woke with a gasp, shooting up from her resting position and breathing hard.

And that's when she heard the voices. She blindly felt next to her only to realize that Jack was not there.

Her heart fluttered in panic as she tried to focus on the gray darkness around her and the approaching voices. Was she still dreaming?

She then noticed Jack by the door, pressing his ear against it, and then she heard a shout—the unmistakable sound of her name being called—and Harley's heart jumped a mile. She raced to the door to meet Jack, banging her fists against it.

"I'm here!" she cried, her throat cracking from lack of use. "We're in here! Please, help us!"

The voices outside became louder, and suddenly footsteps were running towards them.

"Harley?"

"Yes!" she croaked, relieved tears stinging her eyes. She didn't recognize the voice, but that didn't matter. "Please, get us out!"

"Is Jack in there with you?"

"Yes, Yes!" She was crying now, tears falling over her cheeks as she pressed her hands against the door, desperate for the freedom she knew was just beyond it.

"Okay, just hold tight, we're going to get you out."

It was only seconds later when the latch was lifted and sweet, sweet air graced her flushed skin. The outside world came as such a shock that at first she didn't know what to do. She swayed on her feet for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dewy morning light, taking in the small group of unfamiliar faces and the officers in uniform. Where were her parents?

"Oh thank God," one of the men said. "We've found her," he said into his walkie, static crackling in the background. "The boy's here too."

Harley swallowed, tears streaming down her face as one of them men urged her through the threshold. "It's okay, Harley, you're safe now. Your parents are worried sick about you."

She nodded, feeling breathless and dizzy and overwhelmed. She could feel Jack standing just behind her though, his presence comforting amongst the sea of strangers around her. She grabbed for his hand without even looking, needing to feel him, needing him to be closer. Jack reached for her searching hand and gripped it tight.

She searched the strangers' faces then, looking for someone—anyone familiar. Suddenly she saw Peter, Guy's brother, rushing towards her.

"God, Harley... "

He knelt down in front of her and pulled her into his arms, holding tight.

Harley didn't let go of Jack's hand.

She was so overwhelmed she could do nothing but sob into his shoulder in relief, clinging to his shirt with her free hand.

"Peter," she sniffled. She didn't know what to say to him, she just needed to say his name out loud, for fear he might disappear if she didn't.

"It's okay, I got you." He held on to her tight, stroking her hair, letting her wet the shoulder of his jacket with her tears.

Everything after that faded into a strange blur around her, and she was only vaguely aware that someone had placed a blanket around her shoulders and that Peter had lifted her into his arms, her head cradled against his chest, as they made their way out of the woods. Jack made to let go of her hand so she could wrap her arms around Peter's neck, but Harley wouldn't let him, and so he walked next to Peter as he carried the small girl out of the woods.

Above, the sky was the color of charcoal; it had started to rain.

Peter did his best to cover her with the blanket, but by the time they had made it out of the woods, everyone, including her, was soaked. She saw her parents standing by an ambulance under an umbrella. Sharon covered a hand over her mouth to hide a sob when she saw her daughter at last.

Harley was carried over, but hardly had time to even glance at her parents before she was being settled into the back of an ambulance on a stretcher.

"She needs to be taken to the hospital," one of the officers explained, "She's very weak."

Harley shook her head as Peter set her down. "Please, please don't go," she begged.

"Harley," he said gently, "there's not enough room for me in here. But I'll see you there. I promise."

She nodded, and then her gaze turned to Jack, making a noise of protest when his hand broke apart from hers as somebody carelessly pulled him away.

"No!" she shouted. She tugged on the paramedic's arm next to her as they prepared to close the door. "Please, I—Jack!" she said, panicked. "I need him!" She realized she didn't want to be without him. She couldn't explain it, but in that moment she needed him with her more than anyone else.

Her plea, however, was lost in the chatter and the sudden blare of the ambulance sirens, and the last thing she heard was the voice of her father, promising that they'd see her soon just as the doors of ambulance closed and the shrill cry of the siren erupted in her ears.

* * *

Harley didn't like hospitals, and she'd been a patient in them enough times to know. She knew the place like the back of her hand, and many of the nurses even knew her by name. She'd been there for five twisted ankles (courtesy of various gymnastic stunts she really shouldn't have attempted) a broken wrist, a broken pinky finger, three cuts that needed stitching, and, most recently, the gash on her arm she'd gotten from Jack pushing her to the curb.

She was poked with needles, thoroughly washed, and given fresh clothes and water and eventually some food, and then, much to her protest, was forced to stay overnight. It was merely a precaution, the doctor explained, and for a little while her parents even entertained the idea of staying the night with her. But in the end it was decided that her dad would pick her up in the morning to take her home. She was mildly disappointed, but hadn't really expected anything more from them. Sharon and Nick stayed for a few hours, but then they had to leave for work, as they'd put it off for a whole day when they'd realized their daughter had gone missing.

"I've got a mountain of work I'll have to catch up on," Nick said with a sigh, almost as if he were annoyed, as if it were Harley's fault she had been locked in a shed for two days. He forced a smile and patted her head anyway. "We'll see you in the morning, Harl."

Harley smiled up at him as he tousled her hair, thrilled that he hadn't called her "Harleen." She dared to wrap her arms around his neck and tell him she loved him. He smiled back and then untangled her arms from around his neck, wishing her goodnight. It was only three o'clock.

Sharon said goodbye to her daughter as well before urging Jack along.

"Let's get you home, Jack," she said. He was standing near the foot of the bed, and when Sharon went to put an arm around his shoulders to guide him away, he shrugged her off, hardly even sparing her a glance.

"I'll stay," he elected.

Nick paused in the doorway, exchanging a glance with his wife.

"Jack," he began, "That's very nice of you, but Harley will be fine on her own…."

"No, no," Sharon interjected. "I think it's nice that they want to spend time together," she smiled, thinking that her little plan of them becoming best friends had worked. "Jack can stay if he likes." With that she cleared her throat and waved. "We'll let the nurse know he's here. We'll see you soon, Harleen." She smiled and then closed the door to what Harley felt was her temporary prison. As if the shed hadn't been bad enough.

When they were gone, and only Jack remained, Harley felt herself flush a deep shade of pink and pulled her covers past her chin, so only her eyes showed.

"Thank you for staying," she mumbled.

Jack looked at her, and then after a moment moved into one of the green lounge chairs, resting his arms on the armrests.

"It's been a while since I've sat in an actual chair... " he mused aloud, his words followed by a small, barely-there smile. And Harley smiled too, understanding his words.

She lowered the blanket from her face and turned on her side so she was facing him, suddenly serious.

"Were you ever scared, Jack?" she wanted to know.

He gave a slow, almost hesitant shrug in reply, as if his answer didn't matter.

For a while she studied him, and for once she didn't look away when his eyes locked on hers. She wasn't afraid of him anymore, she decided. In fact, she was sort of growing to like him a little bit. Maybe a lot.

If there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that she was glad he had chosen to stay with her. It was better than being alone.

The two of them sat in silence, listening to the rain outside as it pelted the windows. The sky was dark and angry and yet somehow comforting. She was glad to be inside, tucked safely under warm covers in a soft bed and not sleeping on a hard, splintery bench in some hot shed.

Only a few minutes later, Peter and Guy stopped by, in which Guy apologized profusely for not telling anyone where she was, and that she was trapped.

"I didn't want Allan to kill you," he said, his brows knitted together as if he still wasn't sure if he'd made the right decision.

"He's not going to kill her, bud," Peter said with a sigh. He was sitting on the edge of Harley's bed and Jack had been glaring at him the moment he stepped into the room. Peter didn't notice. "If _anybody's _ever in trouble, you need to tell an adult immediately. No matter what Allan says." He sighed. "I won't let him hurt any of you, I promise."

"I got you a present," Guy suddenly spoke up. He made to hand it over to Peter, but Peter put up his hands and laughed.

"You can give it to her yourself, buddy. It's alright." Peter urged his younger brother forward by putting a hand on his back.

Guy blushed but moved forward anyway, tenderly taking hold of Harley's hand and peeling back her fingers to lay a locket in her open palm. It was a silver heart.

"Oh, wow," Harley murmured. She lifted the locket into the air and watched as it reflected the light. "It's beautiful," she gushed.

"I hope it'll make you want to forgive me," Guy said, tracing his foot in a wide circle along the floor, his head bowed. "I bought it with my own money and everything."

Harley lowered the necklace and smiled at him, not feeling even an ounce of anger. Without a word she leaned over the edge of the bed to pull him forward in a hug, and Guy was so shocked he didn't even hug her back, though he very much would have liked to. Their embrace was over just as soon as it had begun, and when Harley pulled away Guy's eyes were wide in awe.

He swallowed and blinked away the hearts in his eyes. "You're welcome," he breathed.

"Help me put it on."

She turned her back to him and lifted her long blonde hair to bare the back of her neck. Guy stepped closer and took the necklace, placing it around her neck with trembling hands as he clasped it. Harley let her hair fall back down when it was clasped, and Guy continued to stare at her like she was an angel from another world.

Peter chuckled to himself and stood up from the bed. "We should probably get going now." He gently cuffed Harley's cheek and smiled. "You get some rest, okay?"

"I will," she promised.

She turned to Guy. "Thank you for the necklace."

Guy blushed and clasped his hands behind his back. "You're welcome," he said, and then hurriedly rushed out of the room before his face got even hotter.

When they had left, Harley let out a blissful sigh and lay back against her pillow, fingering the tiny silver heart that dangled between her collarbones

Jack, meanwhile, had sat in the corner watching the exchange, not uttering a word. She'd felt his eyes on her the entire time though, and she turned to him now, lifting her necklace for his view.

"Isn't it pretty?"

He didn't answer, and instead seemed conflicted over something; Harley always found it difficult to read his expressions. She never knew for sure what he was thinking.

When a nurse came in to check on them a while later, Harley announced that she was bored and wanted something to do. The nurse left the room for a few moments, and when she came back her arms were full of children's books. She laid them at the end of Harley's bed where her small legs didn't reach.

"Oooh." She leaned forward to inspect the books for herself, and the nurse asked if she needed anything else before leaving.

Later, Harley was brought her dinner, and Jack was brought his own meal as well. They ate together in silence, neither feeling very chatty, and both feeling exhausted.

It rained on and off for the rest of the evening, and through the retractable grey blinds, Harley watched the city bathe in the summer rain. Outside in the halls, she could hear the distant chatter of the hospital. She hummed to herself to make the sounds less distinct.

When it became too dark to see outside, she sighed and reached for a book she hadn't read yet, flipping through its pages with little interest. It was no fun reading if there was no one to read aloud for her.

"Jack?"

She turned to him to find him staring out the window just as she had been, his long legs dangling over the armrest of his chair.

He turned his head to acknowledge her.

"Will you read to me? Please?"

Jack scoffed, though she could barely hear him. "No."

"Please!" she begged. "Just this once."

"I'm not . . ."

Jack trailed off when Harley began to pout, her lower lip jutting out and her eyes growing wide. She was good at the whole puppy dog look, and she knew it.

He shook his head but did get up from his chair, much to Harley's glee.

She clapped her hands as he pulled his chair closer to her bed, plopping himself down in it and reaching for the book Harley handed him.

"This one," she instructed.

"_Rapunzel_," he read aloud. "Uh... how about we pick another... "

"No!" Harley insisted, pushing the book back into his hands. "This one's my favorite."

Jack narrowed his eyes but opened to the first page, doing a poor job of hiding his utter distaste.

Harley wiggled her toes in excitement and sunk deeper into her covers, reminding him to "please do all the voices."

Jack complied by doing just two, and it was more than enough for Harley. She stared at him as he read, watching the way his lips moved and the way his Adam's apple bobbed, and the way his dark eyes wandered across the page. She felt herself blush whenever he paused to look at her—as if to make sure she was still listening—and she wasn't quite sure why.

Harley handed him book after book, and after an hour of reading aloud, Jack shook his head and pushed away the next fairytale she had tried pushing into his hands, too tired to continue. He turned on the TV for her after that, and they both settled into comfortable positions, Harley in her bed and Jack sprawled on the chair next to her.

The nurse came to check on them one more time for the night, and then turned out the lights, leaving only the glow from the TV.

Jack was the first to fall asleep, and Harley thought she had seriously underestimated how tired he was, because his eyes had closed only seconds after the lights turned out. She turned on her side and tucked her hands beneath her head as she watched him sleep, fascinated by the steady rise and fall of his chest and the way his long lashes fluttered, as if fighting off some invisible monster.

She sighed and closed her own eyes then, thinking back over the events of the day, the time they had spent in the shed, and the peculiar change in attitude she was feeling towards Jack. He didn't hate her, she marveled, and she realized she didn't really hate him either. She liked being around him, even if he didn't say much. His presence was comforting, and he made her feel... he made her feel less lonely. She liked that.

The next morning came all too soon, but when Harley awoke, she felt refreshed and happy. She would never again take sleeping in a warm bed for granted.

They were brought orange juice, two sausage links each, and scrambled eggs for breakfast, which Harley devoured in no time at all. She stood by the window now, fingers tapping against the sill in her impatience to leave as she watched the bustling city below.

Nick arrived only a small time later to finally pick her up.

"How you feelin', Harls?"

He was in a good mood today. And he wasn't wearing a suit. Harley thought this peculiar, but she didn't question it as she ran to give him a hug.

"Good!" she replied. "But I'm ready to come home!"

"I'm ready for you to come home, too." He kissed the top of her head and then held her hand in his. Harley relished the moment as best she could, positively beaming.

He turned to Jack. "You ready to go, son?"

It was the first time Nick had ever referred to Jack as his son, and it took both Jack and Harley by surprise, although Jack didn't show it.

Harley chattered excitedly in the backseat the entire ride home, sharing with her father the horrors of being trapped inside a shed for two days with no food or water. He asked questions when he could get a word in, and Harley was thrilled to answer them. It was the longest conversation she'd had with her father in three months.

Sharon wasn't home when they arrived, but Nick promised she'd be leaving work as soon as she could.

But Harley's excitement was quick to wear off, and she found it strange being back inside her house. It felt like years since she'd last been there, or like she'd just stepped inside the home of a stranger's.

She studied the living room with detached eyes, feeling strangely out of place. She thought she would be excited to be home, but all of her previous enthusiasm had died the second the car pulled into the driveway.

She wandered over to the couch to look out the bay window and across the street to Allan's house. It looked as if no one was home, and yet her stomach still coiled with disgust at the very sight of it. She didn't know what she'd do if she ever saw Allan again. She didn't want to think about it.

Nick noticed her glare as he tossed his jacket over the back of the couch. "I spoke to Allan's parents this morning," he said, loosening his tie. "He won't be bothering you again."

Harley's eyes did not waver from Allan's house.

It was her father's voice that brought her back to reality. His hands were in his trousers and he was leaning against the doorframe that led into the kitchen.

"Do you want me to make you anything, Harls? A snack or something?"

Her dad had never offered to make her a snack before. In fact he'd never offered to make her anything.

And as much as she would have loved sitting at the barstool, watching her father bustle around the kitchen as they chatted about things, she was beginning to feel tired and drained. She'd done nothing but sleep throughout her stay in the hospital, but she still felt exhausted and wanted to lie down.

She excused herself to her room and closed the door behind her, falling back against it. Her eyes searched the room.

Everything was just as she left it. Bed neatly made, toys in their correct place, her clothes all hung in the closet.

Her bed was more inviting than ever, and she pulled down the shades to the two windows before crawling under her covers and closing her eyes.

She didn't know how long she slept, but when she woke, it was to the sound of her parents yelling in the kitchen. It was dark now, the sun having long since disappeared, and crickets now chirped outside her window.

For a while she lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the muted sounds of her parents shouting, and watching as the occasional beam of yellow light from the passing cars on the street below made the mobile above her bed glimmer.

Downstairs, the shouting was growing louder.

That was odd, Harley thought. They fought occasionally, but it almost never escalated to this extent.

She fought back a yawn as she pushed away the covers. Her cheeks were warm, and the quilt pattern from her pillow was imprinted on the side of her face. She rubbed it away with the back of her hand and padded to the door. Slowly, she pulled it open and made her way to the stairwell, the voices of her parents becoming louder as she approached.

"I don't understand where this is coming from!" her mother cried in indignation. Harley poked her head in between the spokes of the banister just in time to see Sharon gesture animatedly with her hand, the other attached to her hip. "I mean, is this some kind of midlife crisis? Male menopause?" Sharon gestured to his head. "What's going on up there, Nick?"

Her father had his back turned towards her, but Harley could hear his voice plain as day.

"When Harley went missing it made me realize how _ignorant_ I've been," he explained, "how much time I haven't given her because of this—fucking nightmare that is my job." He held up a hand when Sharon opened her mouth to speak. "Don't interject, you know it's true. It stresses me to no end and I can't—I just want to spend time with my daughter. I can't deal with it anymore."

Sharon shook her head, speechless. It was a moment before she was able to speak. "You want to spend time with your daughter? Your _daughter_—the daughter you_ didn't want to have_? Am I hearing you right?"

From the stairwell, Harley gasped, putting a hand to her chest in shock; she felt as if the air had been knocked right out of her. He hadn't wanted her? Her own father didn't _want_ her?

"Don't start that, Sharon! You know that changed the second I laid eyes on her."

"Has it? Because you've barely spoken five words to her since she could walk and I'm practically raising this—this _hell child_ by myself."

Nick closed his eyes, put a hand to his head. "I know that. I fucking _know _that, and that's why I'm putting away the books. I want to be her father and I thought—I really thought you'd support me."

"And who's going to support _me_? Us? Our family? Your pay is 60% of our income—what are we going to do once you're out of work? What are _you_ going to do? Stay at home all day?"

"No! I'm going to be here with Harley and we can get rid of that damn babysitter. She's a bad influence anyways."

"Oh, we are not starting that. You're the reason why we _have_ a babysitter, Nicholas." She pointed to herself, "_I_ wanted to send her to boarding school."

"You mean ship her away. I know."

"Damn it, Nick, you're not getting the whole picture! It's wonderful you want to spend time with your daughter. That's great. Fantastic. But have you really thought this through? You've got a sports car in the garage and thousands of dollars in suits and furniture that we haven't even _begun_ to pay off. Have you even thought about that? Our bills? And our reputation! What's the press going to say when they see my husband is out of work? They'll have a field day."

"Who gives a damn about what they think. That's none of their business."

Sharon threw up her hands. "So that's it then? You're done. You're just going to quit. All those years and all that hard work in law school gone to waste."

"I want to spend time with my daughter," Nick said, resolute. "I want… I want to be a better father."

Suddenly, Sharon exploded into anger. She took a step forward and pointed an accusing finger into Nick's chest, looking into his eyes with rage hot as fire.

"Well that's too bad because it's a little goddamn late for that! I've raised her all these years myself and I'll continue to do so. You had your chance and you passed out on it from the beginning. She's _my_ daughter, Nick."

Nick swallowed and didn't say anything after that, or maybe he did, but either way Harley didn't hear him. Tears were streaming down her face as she fumbled her way back up the stairs in the dark, dizzy with anger.

_Daddy doesn't want me_?

Her mother's words echoed over and over again in her head. _"The daughter you didn't want?"_

Was that really true?

At the top of the stairs, she was stopped in her tracks when she ran straight into Jack's chest. How long had he been standing there? Had he heard everything?

"Go away!" she whispered through angry tears, but Jack did not let her go. Instead, in a gesture she was not expecting, his arms found his way around her middle and he held her to him until she was too weary and sobbing too hard to fight.

Her bones went weak, and she slumped into his arms, letting him cradle her as she sobbed into his shirt with abandon there at the top of the stairs in the dark. Never had she felt so_ useless_. Her daddy was the only man she had ever loved, the only man she had ever looked up to, and to know that he hadn't _wanted_ her from the beginning—after years of ignoring her, pushing her aside, hardly speaking a word to her—the realization of it all hurt her heart more than she could bear.

She felt her chest constrict for air, and she pulled away from Jack to gulp in a sobbing breath.

"He hates me, Jack, and mommy does too, I don't… I thought… but I love them." She gasped the words between hiccupped sobs and pressed her face into Jack's chest. She felt his long fingers digging into her sides, and yet, he remained silent.

When the sound of something crashed downstairs—either a plate or a vase or God knows what else—Jack quickly pulled Harley into his room, closing the door behind them.

The shouting grew louder. There was more crashing. Harley sobbed out loud then, and Jack urged Harley towards his bed where she sunk to the floor in front of it, knees pulled to her chest, her head bowed in her hands. Tears blurred her vision.

Jack sat next to her, hesitating for only a moment before his arms found their way around her and he held her close to him.

He was surprised to realize, in that moment, that he'd wanted to do that for a long time.

A lone streetlamp from outside was the only source of light in his dark room, and it cast shadows across the sparse furniture and shone over the different shades of Harley's blonde hair.

When she seemed to calm, and the shouting below had come to an abrupt stop—which was punctuated by a door slamming—Jack pulled back his arms, unsure of himself. He slumped against the side of the bed with his long legs stretched out in front of him. Harley cried quietly next to him.

Staring at his hands, Jack flexed his fingers, pulling those long digits into curled fists and imagining all the people he'd like to hurt with them. Sharon and Nick, for one….

He cast a sidelong glance at Harley to see her feebly attempt to brush away her tears. He was surprised to find that he actually felt a little sorry for her.

It was then that Jack knew something had changed between them. He had been reluctant to acknowledge it at first, when he'd noticed it in the shed, but something had changed.

He couldn't quite place it, the way he'd felt during it all, the way Harley had curled next to him and talked to him—not with condescension, not with anger, just… like another human being. Like a friend.

And when he'd elected to stay with her at the hospital—he'd genuinely wanted to. He hadn't wanted to leave her. He'd never felt such a strong, genuine desire to be around another human being.

Harley made him feel wanted—needed, even. No one had ever needed him before. He'd only been a burden to his dad, to society… but with Harley, she'd completely flipped the tables on him. For once in his miserable life, she made him feel _good_, like he wasn't a complete waste of space in this miserable shithole called earth.

Harley's voice broke through his maze of thoughts.

"Why do they hate me?" she quivered, brushing aside the strands of hair that had caught on sticky, tear-stained cheeks. "What did I do?"

Jack felt his throat constrict for reasons he didn't really understand.

"You didn't do anything. You're…" He bit his lip, searching for words in the dark that wouldn't come. "You don't have to change who you are," he said at last. He sighed, lips parting, wanting to say more, wanting to tell her that her parents were idiots, that she didn't have to live up to any of their stupid expectations, that she shouldn't worry so much about what they thought. But when he tried the words on his tongue, they weighed it down like bricks, and the sentence wouldn't come out.

She cried a little bit more after that, and Jack didn't say anything else to comfort her. He simply sat there next to her—just like he'd done in the shed—and somehow he knew it was enough for them. Just being together, sharing that space, being close to one another. For that moment, it was all they needed.

* * *

When a door from downstairs slammed, Jack started, bolting up from his sleep. His bedroom was bathed in gray, and the alarm clock on his bedside table read 6:03 AM. He looked down to find Harley curled in a ball near his side, fast asleep.

He knew Sharon would come to check on her soon, just like she did every morning before leaving for work, and he didn't want Harley to get in trouble for sleeping in his room.

He shook her awake by putting a hand on her arm.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice sleepy and gruff from disuse. "You have to get up."

Harley's lashes fluttered open, and for a moment she looked confused, like she didn't know where she was. Her hair was drooping pitifully from the ponytail she'd had it in earlier, and her yellow shirt had rolled up slightly to reveal a small part of her belly. She looked up at him in confusion.

"You have to go to your room," Jack explained, quietly. He nodded towards the clock on his bedside table.

Harley blinked back the sleep from her eyes and nodded once in understanding. She rose with a silent yawn—her body aching and sore—and opened the door to head back to her own room.

But, after a moment's pause, she turned back towards Jack and suddenly ran to hug him.

Jack didn't hug her back—too caught off guard to do anything but keep his arms pinned at his sides, much like Guy had been at the hospital when Harley had hugged him—but then she let go all too quickly and was gone.

It was only when he heard the soft click of her door closing that Jack let himself take a deep breath.

He slumped against his bed and bowed his head, digging his fingers into his skull, angry at himself for the way he was feeling, for the way _she_ was making him feel.

When he looked up, it was to stare at the door Harley had just exited from.

_Damn you, Harley. You stupid girl._

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**_ Jack reading Harley the story of Rapunzel is rather significant in the fact that Jack is meant to portray the "hero" who rescues Harley (Rapunzel) from her castle, or, in other words, the confines of her day-to-day life and the stifling expectations of her parents.

I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

After that night, Harley stuck to Jack like glue.

She followed him everywhere, which should have annoyed him—it _should_ have annoyed him. But Jack didn't mind her as much as he thought he would. She talked too much and stood too close and her eyes were too _fucking_ blue, but he found that he didn't push her away any more like he used to.

He still didn't talk much—that was one thing that hadn't changed—but Harley (and this was no exaggeration) had the lung capacity of a _whale_ and could talk enough for the both of them, without ever stopping for breath. She chattered incessantly, happy to have someone who listened to her, even if Jack's responses were perfunctory and lacked the ever-present enthusiasm with which she spoke in. When she wasn't talking about school, or things she had done with Miss Lenora, or places she wanted to go when she was older, she was singing or humming—or sometimes talking out loud to herself, making up stories meant for her ears only, but that Jack listened to anyway. He was always listening, even if he didn't mean to be.

Several weeks after the shed incident, in August, plans for Harley's birthday party were being spun into motion. She would be turning nine.

The fight in the kitchen had been mostly forgotten by Harley. At first she watched her parents for signs of anger or resentment, but they went on as if it the argument hadn't occurred, like she'd somehow imagined the whole thing.

For her party, decorations were bought, a guest list was put together at long last—a painful process for both Harley and her mother that involved more than a few slammed doors and angry shouts—and the date was set for Saturday afternoon, at two o'clock.

Green, pink, and purple streamers were looped through the stairway banister, and others dangled from doorframes like paper curtains. Balloons floated in lazy zigzags around the living room floor every time the front door opened and a breeze blew through, and an array of colorful treats were placed on the coffee table in the middle of the room for Harley's guests to snack on. Pizza bites and Kool-Aid would be served promptly at five.

When Harley's guests started to arrive, she eagerly showed them where to set their gifts and then herded them into the front yard where she had made up a game for them to play.

The girls' parents had gathered in the kitchen where Sharon was serving cocktails and other drinks, and otherwise swapping the latest social gossip.

For once, Harley felt nervous to be around her classmates—whom she had not seen all summer, ever since school had let out—and she was eager to impress them in the hopes that they might grow to like her. She wasn't under any false impressions; she knew the girls had come only because their parents were friends with hers. The all-girls private school she attended could only be afforded by the elite or those with inside connections. That was why befriending the right people was so important. One had to be heavily invested in the game of social warfare to get anywhere in the world. You got in the game and got your name out, or you didn't and you were a certified _nobody_. That's how it worked—or so Harley's mother had said.

For Harley, she felt as if she were right on the cusp of joining 'the game'. Today was her big day to join the ranks of social acceptance with the other girls. She smiled a bit uneasily as they all looked at her, _studied_ her, like she was some parasite beneath a microscope.

After Harley's idea for a game had been quickly shot down, they were now sitting in a circle in the grass and were talking amongst themselves.

One of the girl's voices piqued above everyone else's, forcing the rest of the chatter from the other girls to a halt.

"Hey, isn't that Allan Bentley's house over there?" She pointed across the street while all of the girls turned their heads to look. Harley felt her insides coil. She plucked a piece of grass from the ground and bit her lip.

"Yeah," she shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. She curled the blade of grass around her pointer finger and looked up.

The girl who had spoken, Abby—a petite blonde with blue-painted nails and glitter eye shadow—looked around knowingly at the other girls. "We all know what happened a few weeks ago. About the shed."

Harley felt her face growing hot.

"So?"

Another girl, Mary, laughed. "Well it's obvious he _likes_ you!" she said with an eye roll so dramatic you would have thought the whole world knew.

Harley's hands drew into fists, and she buried them in the grass behind her back to hide them. Allan had locked her in a shed for two days—without food or water—and these girls had the audacity to suggest he did it because he _liked _her?

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Harley said, not caring if she offended them. She uncurled her fists and leaned back on her forearms as the other girls shared disbelieving looks.

"What did you and Jack _do_ the whole time?" Meredith wanted to know. She was sitting Indian-style and was leaning forward on her elbows. Harley studied the pink beret in her hair and watched it glitter in the sun.

"I don't know," she said. Flashbacks of heat, of hunger, of having to go to the bathroom and not being able to relieve herself, of being so hot she could barely_ breathe_ rushed through her mind. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"Oh, come on," Abby urged. "We want to know."

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

"Did you kiss?" Mary asked, and despite herself, Harley felt her face grow even hotter than it had been before. She imagined that she was blushing all the way to her toes, and was as red as a cherry tomato. She'd never thought about Jack in that way before. In fact, she really hadn't thought that way about_ anybody_ before.

"He's her brother!" Abby exclaimed, and all the girls laughed.

"Not technically," Mary sing-songed.

Harley was about to give both girls a piece of her mind when Cassie showed up, plopping herself in the grass next to Harley with an easy smile, her red hair pulled back in a single braid.

The other girls straightened and seemed to perk up instantly. Cassie was pretty and in _high school_ and therefore extremely cool.

She was wearing a green sundress and sandals decorated with emerald-colored jewels. Her toenails were painted a pretty shade of aquamarine. Harley could tell the girls were all taking mental notes so they could later copycat the look when they went out shopping with their moms.

"What are we talking about?" Cassie asked, matching Harley's posture by leaning back on her elbows, her legs bent at the knees and tucked by her side.

Mary was the first to chime in. "We were talking about Jack," she said, raising her brows for effect, as if the very mention of his name was juicy enough to be featured on the front of every tabloid.

"Oh," Cassie said, eyes brightening. "Is he here?"

She started to get up, wiping the grass from her dress, and Harley whined, urging her to sit back down.

"Wait, don't go," she pleaded in earnest. She didn't want to be left alone with these… monsters. How she could have ever wanted to be friends with them was beyond her.

"I'll be back in a minute, I'm just going to say hi to Jack." With that she disappeared inside the house, and Harley's gaze seemed to follow her on an invisible path, as if she were seeing the house with X-ray vision. She imagined Cassie walking up the stairs, passing Harley's room, and then knocking on the door to Jack's. As if drawn there, Harley's eyes wandered towards his window that overlooked the front yard. She sat up in surprise when she found him standing there, at his window, looking down at her and her group of friends. Her heart leaped into her chest—and she felt a strange, electric thrill at having caught him eavesdropping on her party. She wondered what he was thinking about, if he somehow knew what they were discussing.

He turned away from the window and redirected his gaze only when Cassie entered his room.

Suddenly Harley was reminded of a flashback she rather wished she had forgotten, when she'd caught Jack and Cassie kissing on the couch. The memory made her feel strange, and for some reason her heart beat faster, too. She didn't understand it.

"Earth to Har-ley," Mary sing-songed again—she had an annoying habit of doing that, Harley noticed. She waved her hand in front of Harley's face to draw her attention away from the window.

She noticed all the girls staring at her expectantly, and she realized she was in no mood to celebrate her birthday. Not anymore, and certainly not when Cassie was with Jack and the two of them were very alone in Jack's room. Why did that bother her so much?

For the rest of the afternoon, the girls chattered and gossiped about things with little or no interest to Harley, and when it was time to open her presents, she did so with little enthusiasm. She was given expensive sweaters and gift cards to boutiques she'd never been to and makeup brushes and powders and shadows she'd probably never use.

Afterwards they settled in the living to have pizza bites, and then later cake, where the girls sung to Harley the most artificial and forced rendition of 'Happy Birthday' she'd ever heard. As she blew out her candles, she thought about how the girls could care less whether she lived or died.

They played a few more games after that, and then they all shuffled out to their cars to leave as Harley thanked them at the door, awkwardly offering hugs and murmurs of, "thanks for coming."

When everyone was gone, Sharon came into the living room to inspect Harley's gifts.

"Look at this, Harleen. You'll look so pretty this!"

Harley shrugged.

Nick was sitting on the couch, looking tired but content. Harley noticed he'd been drinking less wine as of late, and his moods these days were strange, but not unwelcome. Harley had never seen her dad so relaxed. She wouldn't go so far as to say he was happy—because Harley felt that no matter what, her dad could never be _happy_—but he was more jovial and slower to anger. It was like the fight he'd had with Sharon the other night had never occurred. Maybe it had finally resolved things between her mother and father for good?

"Hey Harls, c'mere." Her father gestured her over by patting the space next to him, and Harley wandered over slowly, suspicious of what he wanted to say.

When she was in front of him, she watched as he pulled a thin, but modest-sized rectangular box from behind his back and handed it to her. Harley's eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't wait another second before ripping off the purple tissue wrapping.

It was a new paint set for her art easel.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes!" she squealed, holding it close to her chest. "Thank you!" She hugged her father's waist and closed her eyes when she felt his arms wrap around her torso. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"No problem, kiddo."

"Harleen," her mother said, "Why don't you help me clean up in the kitchen, please."

Nick pulled away to look into her face. "You paint me a nice picture, okay?"

Harley nodded enthusiastically. "I promise." She meant it, too. This was by far the best birthday gift she'd gotten.

"Harleen," her mother called again from the kitchen. "Don't make me ask you twice."

Harley rolled her eyes and her dad winked at her, nodding towards the kitchen with a kind smile. She stole a kiss on his cheek—flushing a little in something akin to embarrassment because she wasn't sure if that was okay—before racing off to do as her mother had told, her single braid bouncing behind her. Perhaps her birthday wasn't going to be a total disaster after all.

It was as she was carrying an armful of her gifts up the stairs that she saw the door to Jack's bedroom open, and out stepped Cassie. Harley had forgotten she was even in there. She was surprised to see her babysitter wiping tears from her eyes as she closed the door behind her. The older girl startled when she noticed Harley.

"Oh," she sniffled, forcing a weak smile. "I thought you'd be downstairs with your friends."

Harley stared at her babysitter's disheveled clothes. "Everyone left... " she trailed off. "Why are you crying?" Cassie's mascara was smudged and her cheeks were ruddy. Harley shifted her weight to her other foot and frowned. She'd never seen Cassie cry before, not since that one time her boyfriend had broken up with her two years ago. She'd gone through two whole boxes of tissues and a 12-pack of strawberry Fruit Roll-Ups.

"Me? Oh, I um... it's just allergies, Harls," she sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, forcing a feeble laugh that accidentally came out choked. Harley noticed she also kept trying to cover up her neck with her hands, and that's when Harley noticed how red it was. Her eyes drifted back up to meet Cassie's, and the older girl suddenly looked like she was going to puke. "I have to go," she said, a bit too loud. She was already halfway down the stairs, the front door slamming seconds later by the time Harley had made it to the top of the staircase to watch her leave.

Cassie hadn't even wished her a happy birthday.

She turned to Jack's room with a curious frown, wondering what he could have possibly done to make her cry. Jack could be mean sometimes, and not in the way that girls at school were mean, or the boys on her street, but mean in the way he looked at you, and how dark his eyes got. Sometimes even the simplest of words pierced her like bullets; his voice could do that to you, and she didn't think he even really tried.

She dropped her new presents on her bed and went to Jack's room to ask him about it, but instead ran into him in the hallway. His cheeks were flushed and sweat-slicked curls were plastered to his forehead.

"Ja—?"

"Harley." He cut her off with two hands on her shoulders, spinning her back towards her room. "I have something to show you."

Cassie was forgotten about in an instant, and Harley's eyebrows shot up in excitement. "Ooh, what is it?"

Once he had steered her into her room, he closed the door behind him and sat her down on her bed, plopping himself next to her and pushing all of her gifts aside—but not before picking up a pink top the same shade of Pepto-Bismol. He quirked an eyebrow at it and Harley spit out her tongue.

"I am _never_ wearing that."

Jack smiled then, just a little, but it was enough to make Harley's heart leap into her throat and her words tangle in her mouth. She met his eyes only for a second before looking away, unsure as to why she felt so bashful all the sudden.

"What did you want to show me?" she asked, smoothing out the crinkles in her blue shorts.

Jack sat up straighter, pushing back the hair from his forehead, and Harley noticed how red his mouth was, and that his breathing wasn't quite right. She thought back to Cassie, the redness around her neck and her tousled clothes. Something was not adding up.

"Jack, why was—" Harley's sentence trailed off when Jack pulled something from his back pocket and offered it to her, reaching for her wrist to force her palm open wide.

The item was silver, small, and compact, and she frowned at it as she turned it around in her palm.

"It's a knife," he said, and she looked up to find that his eyes had a strange glint to them, his voice pitched low. "For protection."

Harley fiddled with it, frowning further as she tried to pull the blade from where it was encased.

"No, no. Here, you flick the switch—" Jack did so "—and then the blade comes out. Careful that you don't knick yourself. Now you try."

Harley did as instructed, eyes wide as she focused on doing just as Jack had told her. She practiced opening and closing it again and again, and when she touched the pad of her finger to the tip of the blade, she was startled at how sharp it was, her hand drawing back instantly.

"Ouch!" she whined, sucking the finger into her mouth to draw away the tiny swell of blood.

Jack stared at her, eyes dark as caves, and then the bed shifted as he got up. Harley watched him pause at the doorway, perplexed by the sudden shift in his behavior. He turned his head in her direction, so only half his face was visible.

"You should keep it with you all the time. Do you understand?"

Harley nodded. "I will," she promised. When Jack's hand was on the doorknob, ready to leave, she added her thanks as well, barely above a whisper.

He nodded to her, and then left.

But not before running smack-dab into Sharon.

"Oh, Jack," she eyed him in surprise. "Everything alright in here?"

In response, he fixed her with a blank stare, as if she were somehow unworthy of a real reaction, and then shouldered past her in the small space the doorway allowed. She stared after him with a frown.

"You two have been spending a lot of time together," she said once he was out of earshot and his door was closed. She kept her tone light, conversational, hoping Harley would take the bait.

"Mhm," she said. "He's my brother."

"Yes. Yes, he is your brother," she parroted, entering Harley's room and sitting in the same spot Jack had been in only moments ago. "But wouldn't you like to spend time with the girls your age? I could arrange a sleepover if you'd like. It looked like you were having a good time with all your friends this afternoon."

_They're not my friends. They hate me_, she wanted to say. But she didn't, knowing her mother wouldn't understand.

She shrugged instead.

"Well, anyway. I hope you had a good birthday, Harleen." She smiled at her daughter, leaning forward to offer a quick peck to Harley's head, pulling away before Harley even had a chance to wrap her arms around her mother for a hug. "Good night."

Harley stared at the closed door with slumped shoulders, the knife still curled tightly in her fist where her mother couldn't see it.

"Good night."

* * *

That summer was one of their best. They did everything together, Harley's mother often commenting on how they were "attached at the hip."

Cassie never came back after the incident where she'd left Jack's room crying, and Harley was too scared to ask what had happened on that day. Jack would be turning eleven later that fall, and Sharon decided he was mature enough to be the babysitter now—so long as they both agreed to stay out of trouble.

They spent hours at the pool together, where Jack pretended to read while Harley swam, and where he feigned annoyance when she splashed her way to the edge of the pool and squirted water at him from her mouth.

When they weren't at the pool, Jack followed Harley as she wandered around the neighborhood, looking for trouble while he tried his best to keep her out of it. They spent a lot of time at Miss Lenora's house, too, which had failed on the real estate market and would not sell. The economy had driven Gotham into the ground, and even with Wayne Enterprises—the city's largest commodity—doing its best to create more jobs, no one could afford to live in Gotham, especially outside the hubbub of the city, in the old, quiet neighborhoods like the one the Quinzel's resided in.

Harley, though, was glad that Miss Lenora's house had not sold. In her heart, it would always belong to Miss Lenora, and she could not bear the thought of another family, another body of souls inhibiting the only physical manifestation that Harley had left of her beloved friend.

The house had become derelict as the years wore on, abused by the rain and sun and all the elements in between. The grass had grown nearly as tall as the porch, the garden had withered and died. Vines snaked around the porch railings and poked through cracks, forcing itself upon the house and curling around every available surface it could reach.

The 'Jameston Realtors' sign had long ago been lost to the woods. Harley had watched a woman in a fancy car come by many times to replace it after the kids of the neighborhood kept vandalizing it, drawing crude words and even cruder animations over the pretty realtor's face. Eventually she had stopped coming to replace it. That was about the time the upkeep had stopped as well, when the two men with a trailer of lawn mowers and garden tools and weed whackers had stopped showing up to keep the exterior looking neat and tidy.

Jack followed behind Harley as they waded through the sea of grass to reach Miss Lenora's front door. This was a ritual for them during the summer, after Harley's ballet classes in the morning had ended, and the rest of the afternoon was long and hot and there was nothing else to do. Jack would carefully peel back one of the boards covering the broken window, (it was too heavy for Harley to lift), and then they'd both crawl inside the dark house, their footfalls making the floorboards creak and moan beneath their shoes.

Harley's favorite place was the sunroom, and it was situated just off the kitchen in a small corner of the house. The room was made of all glass windows, including the ceiling which was flat and arranged in long, rectangular panels.

Pale beams of yellow light sliced through the overhanging, gnarled branches of trees outside and filtered into the room, illuminating the dust particles floating in the air. A cloud of dust scattered around Harley when she flopped herself onto the hardwood. Next to her was a tall stack of books, stories that Miss Lenora used to read to her when Harley would ask.

She read through them alone now, imagining Miss Lenora's voice instead of her own narrating the tales of the heroic princess who saved a nation. It was one of her favorite stories.

As for Jack, he sat not far away, only he preferred to remain out of the light and seated in the shadows. He had his own stack of preferred books, mostly nonfiction and of the nature of science and biology, which was of no interest to Harley whatsoever. Jack could read for hours, much longer than Harley could, who often grew bored after only a few minutes and had to occupy her hands and mind with something else.

Jack, though, was quietly brilliant, Harley knew this even despite the C's and D's on his report card. Sharon and Nick tried to reprimand him for it at first, and when they paid a private tutor to come to the house to teach him, they were shocked when Jack—with a blank, silent expression—revealed he was smarter than the tutor, writing out the answers to every problem the older boy gave to him. English, science, math, it didn't matter the subject. He excelled at everything, yet his grades at school continued to plummet. Eventually Nick and Sharon gave up all together.

Harley was curious as to why he didn't try in school, how someone so smart could willingly let their grades fall so low. Her teacher Mrs. Lundwin had expressed a thousand times the importance of a proper education and how critical it was so achieve high grades and to strive for perfection; at her private' all-girl's school, C's were unacceptable and were just grounds to be expelled. She'd heard_ that_ speech more times than she could count.

With a sigh, Harley crossed her forearms atop the opened pages of her book, looking at Jack from where she lay on her belly on the floor. The sun was on her back and in her hair and she cocked her head at the figure across from her, so dark in the shadow edges of the corner.

"Jack?"

He grunted to let her know he'd heard her, his eyes still glued to his book.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?

She was careful in the way she watched Jack's eyes slow across the page, until eventually he stopped and looked up at her.

"I don't want to _be_ anything."

Harley frowned at him. "I don't understand. You have to be _something_."

Jack grinned, though it was a smile devoid of humor, and in the dark his teeth gleamed like the fangs of a wolf.

"That's where you're wrong, Harley-girl."

"Am not!" she protested, lifting herself off her elbows to snap her book shut in defiance. Dust scattered around her in a flurry of motion.

Jack only looked at her, silent, and Harley's features softened into something like embarrassment. She slumped against the floor and traced a figure eight on the hardwood with her index finger.

"I want to be a ballerina," she told him. "A really famous one. I want the whole city to know my name." She swallowed, fixated on the movements of her finger as she made it dance across her line of vision. "I've been practicing a lot," she said, looking up at him. "Do you want to see?"

Jack eye's had never once left hers.

He nodded twice, slowly.

Harley felt her cheeks flush a little as she rose from the floor, dusting off the knees of her overalls. She pushed aside her books and a few dead, potted plants to create an open space in the middle of the room.

Once she was standing in the center, now cleared of debris, she seemed to falter. "I'm not really dressed for it," she conceded, not meeting Jack's eyes as she toed at the ground and traced a half moon back and forth, "and I don't have my ballet flats."

Jack shrugged, folding up his book and placing it on the floor beside him. "Do without."

Harley nodded, feeling a little hesitant, and then toed off her sandals, pushing them out of her way.

With a deep breath, she took her stance, standing on one pointed toe with her other leg tucked to her knee to form a triangle, and both arms curled high above her head in a graceful arc.

She maintained position as she counted off the numbers in her head, and at 'one' she pushed off, humming the sweet, melodic tune she'd become so familiar with. It was one of her favorite songs from last year's recital, a tune that had become so ingrained, with steps and movements so familiar they felt like second nature.

And while Harley was firecrackers and nails and sharp elbows and bony knees in everyday life, she became something else entirely when she danced. Her movements became fluid, the way water trickles through a gentle stream, and her expression softened, mouth parted and eyes half shadowed by dark lashes.

She was concentrated but not, so lost in a world all of her own as she spun in circles that made her hair swing and catch the rays of sunlight, blonde strands glittering like gold.

The floor creaked in some parts as she twirled, but that hardly seemed to matter, especially not to Jack. For what felt like the first time in years, he was enraptured, unable to take his eyes away for even a second.

He didn't... like dancing. He didn't find it particularly interesting or pretty to watch, but Harley was something else. He didn't know she could move like this, didn't know she could be so passionate and quiet and graceful.

Jack was quiet for several seconds after she finished, and he had to swallow the weird feeling in his throat to find his voice.

"Do it again," he said, and even though the room was starting to grow dim and the sun was falling, Harley did, retracing the same dance while he watched.

When she finished, her cheeks were flushed from exertion and she felt breathless and a little embarrassed from the way Jack was looking at her, as if seeing her for the very first time.

"I—I know it's not perfect," she explained, a rare show of uncertainty. She pulled at the metal clasps of her overalls. "Miss Hunderson said my pirouette is a little shaky, but I'm trying _really _hard." She straightened then, pushing back her shoulders and regaining that cocksure-confidence she was known for. "I'm going to be the best."

She waited for Jack to speak then, hoping for some kind of praise, or recognition of her talent, or approval, but he did not offer any.

Harley shrugged and smiled at him as she tugged on her sandals, balancing on one foot as she tried to pull the strap up over her heel. "Just wait. You'll see."

And as she skipped past him, singing some nameless tune, Jack did not doubt her words for a second.

* * *

Two summers came and went. It was September. Harley was eleven now. Jack would be thirteen in November and was starting high school.

During the fall and spring months, there wasn't a lot of time to be spent together as there was during the summer, especially now that Jack was in high school. But they still made it work, still went to Miss Lenora's house to read or be alone, and instead of going to the pool like they used to, now it was the bakery two miles away. Sharon would've had a cow if she knew, Harley was sure of it, so they kept it a secret that they went there after Jack picked her up from the bus stop, since he got out of school a half hour earlier than she did. Sharon didn't come home until six, and Nick even later than that, or sometimes not at all, so the secret was easy to keep. The usually returned home just before four thirty.

At the bakery, they took up their usual table by the large window, the outside world partially skewed by the large, white decal of a loaf of bread. Harley liked to joke that it looked like a penis, smiling with a broad grin that Jack found hard to resist. He rolled his eyes at her and shoved her shoulder instead.

Mostly they did homework, their books stacked precariously atop the table and Jansport backpacks discarded at their feet. Jack guided her through her math and science, pencil in hand as he explained concepts to her that were particularly hard for her to understand.

This was when Jack was most unguarded, Harley noticed, when he spoke freely and confidently and his eyes were open and expressive.

And Harley loved watching him like this, loved seeing this side of him. It was easy to become lost in his voice and the words he was saying. She hardly noticed when his legs bumped against hers under the table, limbs so long they had nowhere else to go.

Afterwards though, when the books were put away, he slipped back into his usual demeanor, quiet and tight-lipped and eyes so searing Harley thought her skin might burn.

That was why making him smile became her new favorite task. She said dumb, silly things, stuck straws up her nose when they ordered sodas at the bakery, tackled him from behind and jumped on his back, forcing him to carry her home while she poked his sides.

"You're so _serious_, Jack," she whined one rainy afternoon, both of them soaked as they walked back home from the bakery in the rain, which had started to ease up as they neared their street.

"Yeah?" he said, smirking.

"Yeah."

Harley stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, and it took Jack a few seconds to realize that she had, but it was too late. When he turned around, Harley was right there, smearing cold, brown mud across the side of his cheek.

He jerked away and scowled at her.

"Hey!"

"Come on, lighten up!" Harley cheered.

"You want me to lighten up?"

She nodded eagerly, noticing the familiar gleam in his eyes and the slight quirk of his lips.

Jack cocked his head and beckoned her over with his finger. "C'mere then."

She shook her head. "Not uh, I don't think so," she grinned, starting to back away.

She watched him dip his waist to scoop up a glob of mud from the curb. Then he stalked closer. "Come on, Harls, what're you so afraid of?"

As he started to come closer, Harley squealed and flung another piece of mud, which landed in his hair, and Jack caught her by the wrist before she could get away, pulling her forward as she yelped in surprise. When he had her secured in his grip, he slathered mud all over her forehead as she laughed and fought his grip.

"You're cheating!" Harley cried in mock indignation, causing Jack to scoff.

"How am I cheating?!"

"You can't hold me for longer than three seconds! That's not how you play!"

Jack rolled his eyes, gripping her tight and pulling her flush up against him with one arm, using the other to smear more mud down the side of her face. "I don't care about the _rules_, Harley."

"Cheaaaaater!" she cried, laughing as she pushed him away and ran as fast as she could towards the house, her backpack bouncing behind her.

Jack ran after her without missing a bit, grinning in the rain.

* * *

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Harley had gymnastics practice—her big performance was in December, which she never stopped talking about—and Jack tagged along after school to sit on the bleachers and do homework. Mostly, though, he watched, much to the pleasure of the other girls, who giggled and blushed and waved to him before the instructor snapped at them to pay attention.

Jack ignored them, focusing only on Harley as she worked her way across the balance beam, or practiced her tumbles and flips. She was good at it, too; it was easy to see that she stood out from most of the other girls, as she had many more years of experience than they did, and a drive and determination unlike anything he'd ever seen.

He was convinced that Harley could conquer the world if she set her heart to it—not that he'd ever tell her that.

After practice they walked home together, at least until November, when it became too dark and cold, tiny flurries of snow swirling at dusk, a small precursor of the harsh winter to come.

Nick started picking them up after that, and that's when everything changed.

He hadn't quit his job, as Harley had previously thought when she had overheard her parents arguing in the kitchen that fateful night, but one thing that had changed was that he was working less. Less hours, less cases, less clients—even if there were some nights he didn't come home at all. She didn't know what to think about those, and she didn't think it her place to ask. Besides, she wasn't worried. The idea that he might be doing something bad or wrong had never even crossed her mind. He was her father, and even if their relationship over the years had been strained and uncomfortable at best, he had never given her any reason for her not to trust him.

Besides, she loved spending all this extra time with him lately, and he was always in a good mood. She began to look forward to the car rides home from gymnastics, where he'd turn up the radio and act silly and sing along with Harley, both of them trying to coax Jack to join in.

And at home, he let her show him her gymnastics tricks, or the paintings she'd been working on, and he showered her with praise at how good they were, at how talented she was. Harley helped him put up the Christmas tree, and he decorated it with her, too.

The best part was that he was more affectionate than Harley had seen him in her entire life, kissing her and offering hugs. She had never felt so happy, not since Miss Lenora.

But like all good things, Harley would come to realize, they always came with a catch.

Nothing was ever as it seemed.

It was the night of her gymnastics competition that everything fell into place—but in the worst possible way.

She'd been waiting for this day for months, chattering about it constantly, practicing even when her muscles ached and begged for her to stop. If there were loud thumps in the middle of the night, everyone knew they came from Harley's room and that she had probably landed her double flip—or had knocked over a lamp in the process of trying to do so.

The Big Day was the eighteenth of December, only days before Christmas. There was an excitement in the crisp, winter air that felt palpable to Harley. The neighbors had put up their colorful lights, lined from the rooftops and strung around pretty tress in windows, and that night was the first real snowfall of the year, pretty white flakes swirling through the air. Harley, situated in the front seat, bounced her thigh up and down in anticipation as she watched the snow dance and spin away from the windshield wipers. Jack sat in the back trying to warm his hands.

The only disappointment of the night was that Sharon could not make it to Harley's competition. Harley was bummed, at first, but the real icing on the cake was that her daddy could be there instead. It'd be the first competition he'd ever been to.

Upon arrival, which was promptly at four, Harley was dropped off out front of the large high school where the competition would be taking place. It was the same high school Jack attended, and the one she'd be attending next fall. These, though, were the thoughts farthest from her mind as she grabbed her bag and dashed towards the front of the building—but not before giving her father a quick peck on the cheek.

"Remember it starts at five. Don't be late!" Harley warned.

"I'm just going to go around the corner to get some coffee, I promise I'll be right back. I won't miss a thing." The competition didn't start for another hour, giving the girls an opportunity to practice and warm up, so he had time to spare. "Knock 'em dead, sweetheart."

Harley turned to Jack next, still in the backseat and looking at her.

"Yeah. Knock 'em dead," he echoed, smirking in a way that both irritated Harley and made her heart skip at the same time.

Inside the gymnasium, Harley met with her team and slipped out of her sweat gear, revealing her silver and blue leotard. She stood on her tiptoes—stretching her calves—as she tied her hair into a neat bun at the back of her head. She realized somewhat distantly that her mother often styled her hair in the same manner. She tried not to think about that and focused instead on warming up.

Harley chattered idly with her teammates as they stretched and practiced their balance and flips and landings. The nervous energy in the room felt palpable, making her hands sweat and her palms slip-slide against the blue, cushioned mat spread out across the gym room floor.

She listened to her teammates whisper about the girls from other schools of neighboring districts, gossiping mostly about the way they had styled their hair and their outfits. She tuned them out and focused her vision on the bleachers across the floor, where parents where shuffling in to choose their seats, video cameras at the ready.

With fifteen minutes till five, the instructor called the girls into a huddle, spouting off the familiar pep-talk Harley had heard a million times over. She looked around at her group of girls, her teammates she'd been practicing with for months—some of them had been in her group for years—and could see the nervous determination on their faces, their expression no doubt matching her own. They each put a hand in the middle of the circle, palms down, and on the count of three lifted their hands with a loud cheer. The other teams followed after with their own cheer. Then the announcer came on.

Harley half tuned him out as she took a seat on the bench with her other teammates, waiting for her own named to be called.

On the other side of the gymnasium, which felt miles away, she spotted Jack on the bleachers, his curly blond mop sticking out among the throng of parents, and then her father sitting next to him. When they locked eyes, Nick waved excitedly to her, and Harley waved back with equal amounts of enthusiasm, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.

"That's my dad," Harley whispered to Alexis, the pretty brunette sitting next to her. She was two years older than Harley and went to some private school Harley had never heard of.

Alexis smiled at her kindly, catching on. "Is this his first competition?" Harley nodded eagerly. She smiled again. "He'll be dazzled by you," she promised, and Harley inched her shoulders up to her ears and blushed.

She moved her attention to the judge's table, recognizing at least two of them from last year, and she realized that she was going to have to dazzle them, too. Lucky for her, she'd learned a lot since then.

The first time her name was called, it was for her Floor Exercise, which was a relief to Harley, as she felt it was the routine she was most prepared for.

At the corner of the mat, Harley dipped her hands in the small bowl they had provided with white powder, and she rubbed her palms together with it, heart beating faster with each passing second. With the lights shining bright, face glistening with sweat, Harley took her stance. Her lips were pulled tight in concentration, chin held high, and her hands were poised at the ready above her head.

In that moment, every eye in the room was on her, and she felt _bold_.

When her music started—a loud, pulsing beat that made her entire body thrum with adrenaline—she took a deep breath and sprung forward, breaking into her first double flip, and then following with a high rotation, body twisting in the air. She stuck her landing, and the crowd broke into applause.

The rest of her routine went without any major mistakes. She remembered to keep her knees together and thighs tucked tight to her chest during her flips, and her landings were solid. She never once went out of bounds.

When her song ended and she struck her final pose—a split that finished with a graceful arch of her back, neck elongated and gaze directed upwards—the crowd applauded and Harley breathed at last, smiling until her cheeks hurt.

Immediately she directed her gaze to the spot on the bleachers where Nick was sitting, eager to see his reaction.

He was not there.

Her smile faltered as she scanned the audience, thinking maybe he had moved to another seat, or had decided to stand—but every face in the crowd was not the one she wanted to see.

Jack, though, was there, staring with an expression she couldn't read, and she hoped she had at least impressed him.

She turned back to the judge's table just in time to see them scribble down their scores, which she wouldn't receive until after all the other events had been scored and added up.

She jogged back towards her spot on the bench, chest heaving from exertion as her teammates congratulated her on her performance. She tried to smile at their praise, but it was halfhearted at best.

She sat down and nursed her water bottle after pulling on her warm-up gear, still scanning the opposite side of the gym for her father, uninterested in the next routine that had started.

After a while it was time for her balance beam performance, which she also perfected save for one minor slip-up, when her landing was a bit shaky. Afterwards, just like with the first performance, she scanned the crowd for her father, hoping he had come back from wherever it was he had disappeared off to.

He was not there, again, and her heart sunk farther into her chest.

_Where are you?_

Her last performance involved the springboard. Again, her landing wasn't as perfect as she had hoped, but her coach told her she should be proud, and she smiled when the assistant coach told her she was the best of the night.

When everything had finished, and the awards had been doled out, Harley fingered the medal around her neck with a frown. The audience applauded, oblivious.

The medal was a bronze, and she was the only one from her school to receive a medal at all.

Under any normal circumstances, she would have been thrilled to receive such news. Third place meant she had a lot of work still yet to accomplish, but it also meant she was the third best out of all those other girls who had participated, all thirty of them. But she could not bring herself to be happy knowing that her father had missed her entire performance. She had been practicing so hard, and just for him...

Afterwards, when her teammates finished hugging and congratulating her on her win, Harley gathered up her duffel and stalked across the gym to the bleachers.

Looking up, she realized now that Jack and her dad were _both_ gone, and she stood awkwardly by the bleachers as she scanned the crowds, looking for them.

Off to her right, she stared as a mom and dad squeezed their daughter in a tight hug, both parents smiling proudly. The dad handed the camera off to another parent, who then took a picture of all three of them together, with their daughter in the middle.

"You were wonderful, honey, I am so proud!" her father beamed, a tall man with thick glasses and a warm smile.

The girl hadn't even placed, and yet her parents were acting as if she had won the gold.

Harley despised them immediately, jealous to her bones. She tried not to scowl when they turned in her direction, heading towards the exit, where everyone else was swarming to get out as well.

When Harley turned around, her eyes widened when she saw her dad come around the corner.

"Harley." He looked startled to see her. "We were just looking for you! We thought you might have walked right past us and left, so we went outside to check."

We. He kept saying _we_.

Harley tilted a little to see the woman who was half hiding behind him, looking terribly guilty, like she'd just gotten caught with her hands in the cookie jar.

She was pretty and had straight red hair, with bright red lips to match. Her grey, knee-length dress was tight, and improperly buttoned. The black blazer she wore atop it looked like it'd been thrown on in a hurry.

Their cheeks were both flushed.

And it took a second, took a second to put the pieces together, but then she knew, she _knew _what they had done. For a moment, her heart felt like it was made of strings, and each individual thread snapped painfully against her chest as it broke.

Just then, Jack came around the corner as well, joining their odd assembly.

Nick seemed to falter when he noticed Harley staring at all of them. He was able recover in seconds though, weaving a smooth lie out of thin air. Being that he was a lawyer, perhaps that shouldn't have been such a surprise to her.

"Harley, you were amazing! I am so proud of you." He moved to give her a hug.

Harley did not move to reciprocate.

The honesty of his words dulled in comparison to the ones the other parents had told their daughter. Harley knew he was lying through his teeth, and the words _stung _like a bolt of livewire. He had not watched a single second of her performance and she _knew_ that.

"Who is that?" Harley asked when he pulled away, her expression tired and sad. She wasn't even able to muster enough energy to sound angry.

"This is Donna," he said slowly, like it was very important she understand. "She's a friend from work. She came to see you perform. Isn't that nice, Harley?"

Harley nodded her head 'yes', robotic, and ignored the woman, ignoring the sudden jolt of fear that shot through her veins.

"I didn't see you," she told him, her voice coming out much shakier than she would have liked, tears threatening to spill over as the situation began to dawn on her with more clarity. _Do not cry do not cry do not cry._ "Where were you?"

Nick feigned befuddlement, and she would have bought it too, if she hadn't known the truth. Donna was blushing too much for it not to be plain as day.

"We were here the whole time, watching you." He pursed his lips into a thin, straight line. He turned. "Isn't that right, Jack?"

She turned to stare at Jack too, who was standing off to the side of 'Donna'. His face was a mask of calm, expression neutral, mouth relaxed. But it was his eyes that gave him away. When they locked with hers, they were as dark and angry as ever. There was a small, almost imperceptible cut on his cheekbone as well. That hadn't been there before.

He did not say a word.

There was an awkward silence between the four of them after that, broken only by the excited and tired murmur of the crowd as everyone shuffled towards the doors to exit. The crowd was starting to thin out, and, by extension, so were Harley's nerves.

_He cheated _rang through her head, a loud shrill that made her head throb and her heart clench with suffocating force.

Donna was the first to break the silence, clearing her throat with a dainty little cough.

"Well, I better be going," she said, forcing a weak, constipated smile. "Harley, you were great," she added, looking extremely uncomfortable and flushed. She was not the good liar that Nick was. She turned to him next. "I'll um, see you—?"

"—At the office. Yes." He smiled, brief. "Have a good night, Donna."

She nodded and clutched her blazer tighter to her middle, her black stilettos clacking against the gymnasium floor as she disappeared into the crowd.

"So... " Nick clasped his hands together, looking at Harley with a smile. "Who wants ice-cream?"

Harley glanced at the fading red marks around his neck, poorly concealed by the collar of his shirt. Donna had kissed him there.

She shifted her duffle bag around on her shoulder and looked away.

_Donotcrydonotcrydonotcry. _

"Nobody? Ah, I get it. Too tired to answer. You must be pretty wiped out from that performance. Come on kiddo, let's get going."

He put a hand on Harley's back to guide her towards the exit, and she stiffened, but did not pull away.

It took Jack a few seconds to regain his cool in order to follow behind them. In the car, he unclenched his fingers from his palms, revealing bloody crescents where his nails had broken the skin. Jack wiped the blood against his jeans, then clenched his fists harder.

The ride home was uncomfortable and silent. Harley was desperate to ask Jack what he knew, what he had_ seen_, but in her heart she already knew. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, pretending they were watery from the cold and not from unshed tears. Nobody seemed to notice.

Nick pulled through the drive-thru of McDonald's to get more coffee and an ice-cream for Harley, even though she mumbled that she didn't want one. By the time they arrived home, it was almost ten o'clock. Sharon was already asleep.

The snow had stopped for the time being, and there was a good layer of it on the ground and covering the rooftops. Harley looked up at the sky as she stepped out of the car, dazzled by the sight of it. Above, the sky was dark blue and clear as ever, littered only with white, blinking stars. She glanced around at the snow too, untouched and glistening beneath the streetlights and colorful bulbs from neighboring houses. Christmas was only days away.

She couldn't bring herself to smile at the thought.

The moment they were inside the house, Jack stalked up the stairs to his room. Harley shuffled awkwardly in the doorway as she toed off her sneakers, which were soaked from the snow.

"Congratulations on your medal, Harley," Nick said to her as he began to take off his coat. Halfway through the action, he thought better of it and kept it on, smiling a little, like nothing was wrong and he wasn't trying to hide the hickeys around his neck.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, pushing down the thousands of burning questions she wanted to ask, pushing down the urge to _scream _until her lungs were raw.

"Thanks," she murmured instead.

"Sweet dreams," he offered, and Harley could not wish him the same sentiment. She trudged up the stairs with her half-eaten milkshake in one hand, straw scraping annoyingly against the plastic lid, and her duffel bag in the other.

In her room, she dropped the duffel by the door and the ice-cream in the trash.

Then she sat on her bed and cried until she fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Notes:**_ It has come to my attention (on numerous occasions—thank you, reviewers!) that there is discrepancy in Harley and Jack's ages. I am aware that I keep unintentionally flipping back and forth between their ages, and I (hope) I have finally rectified the problem so that their ages now remain congruent between the chapters. (Just be aware that there are time jumps in certain chapters-for example, in chapter four, two years go by). Just for clarification, **Harley is now 11 **and **Jack is 13**. I'm sorry for causing some of you so much confusion. The chapters are often written very far apart, so sometimes I forget their ages and accidentally write that they're younger/older than they actually are. Thank you to all of those who have brought this error to my attention.

* * *

Christmas, now only two days away, turned out to be a rather... revealing affair.

School had let out for winter break the day of Harley's gymnastics competition, leaving her and Jack home alone to fend for themselves for the majority of the day.

In the mornings they slept in late and woke just before noon, greeted by dark gray skies and blustering winds. The landscape was always white, coated with fresh snowfall from the night before. The streets were plowed in the early mornings when it was still dark, and sometimes Harley heard the big trucks and their plows scraping against the pavement as they piled the snow high along the sidewalks.

In the mornings, Harley cranked up the heat when she woke up, and turned it back to its normal setting just before her mother returned from work. Most days she and Jack stayed indoors and watched TV. Usually Jack read in silence or stayed in his room, and in those cases Harley did everything in her power to annoy the living daylights out of him and coax him into trouble.

On this particular morning, after Nick and Sharon had departed for work, Harley was the first to wake. She yawned as she pushed off her covers and outstretched her arms. Outside her window it was another slate gray morning. The ground was white and neighboring power lines and tree branches sagged from their heavy burden. On the sidewalk, ice promised to be dangerous and slippery. To Harley, it was a winter wonderland.

She hummed as she padded down the stairs in her underwear and an old gymnastics t-shirt. The house was silent and empty, the floor cool beneath her bare feet.

In the kitchen, she stood on her tiptoes to reach for the Lucky Charms on the top shelf. She'd hidden it in one of the cupboards they never used, because she'd kept it a secret from her mother who preferred only organic products, and would surely have a heart attack if she knew Harley ate such overly-processed food for breakfast.

"It's candy posing as glorified cereal, Harleen," her mother had said when they were at the grocery store. "Now put it back."

Needless to say, she hadn't put it back, and her mother had been so busy talking on her cell phone that Harley was able to sneak it through the checkout without her noticing.

She was going to enjoy this now, half because it was to spite her mother, but half because it was Lucky Charms, and Lucky Charms were delicious. Now if she could just reach the box...

She startled when she heard somebody clear their throat from behind her. She whipped her head around, right hand still clutched around the cereal box she had yet to lower from the shelf. The muscles in her calves strained and she pulled a face at the same time she started talking.

"Jack," she breathed. "You scared me."

He was standing in the entryway to the kitchen, staring at her. He had just woken up, if the disheveled state of his hair was any indication to go by. Currently he was staring at her as if she had grown a third eye or some other weird anomaly.

"Um." Harley felt goose bumps prickle over the skin of her legs when Jack continued to stare. It did not occur to her that he was staring because she was only in her underwear and a thin t-shirt. She was only an eleven year-old, and an oblivious one at that.

To her frustration, Harley's fingers slipped and she ended up pushing the cereal box farther into the cabinet and out of reach.

She groaned and her shoulders slumped in defeat. When she turned towards Jack, he was smirking at her.

"Need some help with that?"

Harley rolled her eyes. "If you'd be so kind."

Jack, only two years older than her, had hit a massive growth spurt over the summer and now towered over everyone. He was almost as tall as Nick. Harley, in comparison, was on the shorter end of the spectrum, and she still had some growing to do yet.

Jack reached up a skinny arm to retrieve Harley's precious cereal, and Harley noticed he didn't even have to stand on his tip toes. She went to retrieve the box out of his hands only to have Jack hold it high above her head.

"At ah, what do we say?"

Harley looked annoyed. "Please and thank you, Jack," she said, snatching it from him.

He laughed at her and she went about getting a bowl and spoon. They'd spent a lot of time together in the past couple of days, neither of them ever once mentioning the night of the competition. Harley knew Jack had heard her crying in her bedroom that night, but by the next morning, neither of them had addressed it, and Harley found it was easier to pretend as if nothing had happened at all. It was always easier to sweep dirt under the rug than it was to actually clean it up. It'd still be there when she felt like dealing with it, but for now it was out of the way.

Still, in the silence of the morning, as Harley hopped onto the counter—faux-granite cool beneath bare thighs—she couldn't help but let her thoughts stray to that night. Nick was always returning home from work later and later—his absence had become a common occurrence at the dinner table—and Harley was usually in bed by the time he came home. Sometimes she'd hear Sharon and Nick whispering loudly in the mornings, trying but failing to keep their voices low, but Harley always drifted back to sleep before she could figure out what they were talking about. Now that she thought about it, she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen them together.

Jack was leaning against the counter opposite Harley, biting into a ripe, red apple and looking thoughtfully at the floor as he chewed.

Harley set her bowl in her lap and gnawed on her lower lip. "Hey Jack?"

Jack raised his brows to indicate he was listening, but did not look up.

"What happened that night?" she asked in a small voice, uncertainty weighing like a barbell on her tongue. She knew she didn't have to elaborate on what night she was referring to.

Harley followed the movement of his throat when he swallowed, and did not miss the way his shoulders tensed when he raised them to lean his elbows on the countertop.

His eyes were darker than before when he raised his head to look at her. "Are you asking me because you want to know, or because you think you need to know?" he said, quietly.

She averted her eyes to her cereal, where marshmallows floated happily in a swimming pool of milk and the toasted oats were turning soggy.

Harley thought about it. "I want to know. I need to know." She let out a sigh of frustration. "Both, I guess." She swallowed. "Please?"

Silence hung between them for a moment.

Harley frowned when Jack pushed up from the counter and stood to his full height.

"Talk to your dad," he said, voice turned cold, and he would have walked away had Harley not reached out and grabbed his upper arm.

"Hey," she said, stopping him in his tracks. Jack was always referring to Nick as 'your dad' or saying things like 'your parents'. That always got under her skin. "He's your dad, too," she said.

Jack ripped his arm out of her grasp. "Oh fuck it, Harley," he snarled. Suddenly he was invading her space, his abdomen pressed against her knees as he lowered his face over hers. "You know that's not true. I don't feel any more a part of this 'family' than you do. We both know your parents didn't adopt me out of the goodness of their little fucking hearts."

Harley shrank back a little. "What are you trying to say?"

He snorted. "Oh come on, Harls, think about it. I was the fucked up little neighbor boy who needed a home. Your mom swoops in and saves the day. Makes for good publicity, doesn't it?"

"It wasn't like that... " she said, but even she didn't sound convinced.

"Right." Jack moved away from her, knowing he had made his point.

"Wait," she called, and Jack stopped in the doorway, his back to her. "Can you please—please tell me what you saw that night?"

Jack turned his head so only half his face was visible. He looked almost sad. "I think you already know."

And she was given no chance to reply before he was disappearing down the hallway and climbing up the stairs to his room.

He was right, though. She did know. Deep down, she knew what had happened that night, but a part of felt that, perhaps if she knew the whole story, if she knew what Jack had seen, she could better understand why it had happened. Maybe it wasn't what it seemed? She did sometimes have a habit of jumping to conclusions.

Harley looked down at her cereal, now soggy, and no longer felt hungry. She dumped the Lucky Charms in the trash but left the box out on the counter. She'd deal with it later.

She was good at that.

* * *

Christmas Eve, by all regards, was like any other normal day—sort of.

Every year both Sharon and Nick had to work, and usually Harley spent the day at Miss Lenora's. More recently, and for the past two years now, her and Jack were shipped off to spend the day with Sharon's stuffy grandmother who had somehow managed to evade death at every turn, and was pushing her one hundredth and fifth birthday. The big one-oh-five remained to be seen on January second. Harley wondered if this was the year that would finally do her in.

Grandmother Jules's house was located on the outskirts of Gotham, not far from where that billionaire Bruce Wayne lived. Harley knew of him because his parents were the richest people in Gotham (or, had been—they had died a few years ago), and he would inherit their fortune when he was of age. The girls at her private school talked of him often, having seen his picture in the papers and on TV sometimes and thinking he was cute. Bruce was three years older than her and went to the same high school as Jack. Harley didn't know a lot about him other than that, but she did think he was sort of cute too, at least from what little glimpses she'd managed to catch.

Sharon dropped them off at Grandmother Jules's mansion at the crack of dawn. From the looks of it, it would be another rainy winter day, and the two of them would have to spend it cooped up inside those dark rooms where the curtains were permanently drawn to keep out the light. They were so thick with dust that Harley couldn't walk by without sneezing.

"I'll be back to pick you both up around eight. Please be good. Do not break anything," Sharon added, looking pointedly at Harley. "Am I understood?"

"The china plates were an accident," Harley mumbled under her breath, but was not heard as she opened the door to get out.

Jack followed behind her and shut the door. Smoke rose from the exhaust pipe as the car stalled and Sharon rolled down the window. "Tell your grandmother I would have come in to say hello, but I'm running late."

"Okay," Harley said. She hugged her arms around her waist. It was freezing and she kind of wanted to go inside now.

"I'll see you both later."

Harley and Jack trudged up the large, coliseum-like steps to the French double doors that immediately opened upon their arrival. Grandmother Jules could afford to have butlers who stood around all day, opening doors for visitors who never came—even though she always accused the butler and the help alike of stealing her silverware and other expensive household items.

The live-in nurse—who was the only one not in a uniform, and was dressed casually in nice-fitting tan slacks and a white sweater with the sleeves pulled up to her elbows—was walking down the staircase when they entered. She stopped in her tracks when she saw them and smiled brightly.

"Alison!" Harley ran to give her a bear hug.

"Harley! It's so good to see you." She squeezed Harley's shoulders and smiled down at the girl before looking at Jack. "You too, Jack," she smiled. "Merry Christmas Eve to you both! What are your plans for today?"

Harley shrugged. "I dunno. It's so boooring here." And that wasn't a lie. Most of the rooms were off limits to Harley and Jack, and there wasn't a single thing for her to play with. There was also no Christmas tree set up, or any decorations. The only indication Grandmother Jules had given that she knew it was Christmas was that the two long, thin candlesticks on the dining room table were swapped for red ones instead of the usual white.

Alison smiled sympathetically. "Well, tell you what, once I finish giving your grandma her medicine, I've got some studying to do and you're more than welcome to join me and use my laptop while I work, how does that sound?"

"Perfect!" Harley squealed.

"How about you, Jack?"

"Oh, don't worry about him," Harley waved him off. "He brought books to read, he'll be fine. He's always reading."

"Yeah?" Alison motioned for the two of them to follow her down the corridor. "What are you always reading, Jack?"

Jack adjusted his book bag over his shoulder. "Just history stuff, mostly. Some science."

"That's wonderful," Alison said, all smiles. "I love science. It's so fascinating learning how the world works." She looked over her shoulder and grinned at Jack for just a moment before pushing open the swinging doors to the kitchen. "You've gotten taller since I saw you last year."

"He won't stop growing!" Harley supplied. "He's like a tree."

Alison laughed. "I do think so."

Harley and Jack sat down at the small, round wooden table in the kitchen which was reserved for the staff, none of which were allowed to eat in the dining room. The two of them watched as Alison opened various cabinets and pulled out bottles and started preparing the medicine and different liquid concoctions. Her hands moved impossibly fast.

When Alison was finished, she buttoned up her sweater and put everything on a tray to be carried to Grandmother Jules's room.

"She's been waiting to see you," she said, looking at both of them, then she glanced at the clock. "It's alright if you'd like to go up and see her now."

Grandmother Jules had strict times for when the staff could "invade" her privacy, or for when friends and family could visit—not that there were many of those around anyway. Harley only visited once a year, her mother maybe even less than that, always finding some excuse or another for not having to step foot inside the house.

As was such, the staff adhered to a strict schedule posted in the kitchen, detailing when the maid could enter to clean, at what time meals should be served, when visitors could come to call, and at what time any miscellaneous staff could enter if there were important matters to discuss. What was deemed 'important' was left to be determined. Only Alison was able to enter at free will, whenever she pleased, as she was deemed the most important staff member in the house. By all accounts, she probably was. She was always there to make sure Grandmother Jules's myriad of medicines were given on time, that her vital signs were monitored on an around the clock basis, and that everything was functioning as it should be.

For her efforts, she was given two days off a week, in which she left the mansion to run errands in town or visited with friends and family in the city. She was not allowed to have visitors of her own inside the home.

Harley thought about how awfully lonely Alison must be, being cooped up inside the house all day with no one to talk to, but she kept quiet as she and Jack followed Alison down dark, maroon hallways and red and gold ornately patterned carpet.

Alison knocked twice to announce her arrival.

"It's Alison, Miss Jules."

There was a beat of silence, and Alison turned to offer a small, reassuring smile to the two of them.

"Come in," a shaky voice returned, and Alison pushed open the door to let them enter.

"Miss Jules, I've brought some guests with me," Alison said cheerily, her smiling bright even in the dark. "You remember Harley and Jack, look how much they've grown." She ushered the two of them to the side of the bed where Grandmother Jules could see them better.

"Of course I remember them," she snapped, though there was no real bite to her voice, only an attempt at it, shrouded by vocal cords that shook and a voice that crackled only in a way that age could make it, like the scratched disc of a record player. "I'm old, not senile." Only then did her eyes flicker to the two children standing next to her bed. Harley offered her an uncertain mile. Jack remained without expression.

"Well," she crowed, and there was a semblance of a half smile tugging at the corner of wrinkled lips, where her mouth was always turned downwards in a near-permanent frown. "You _have_ grown." This she said to both of them. She sighed then, and it was as if her lungs rattled in her chest, trembling like empty plastic bags in a windy parking lot. "Alison, please, a light for God sakes. I would like to see my great grandchildren without having to squint."

Alison was quick to obey, abandoning her medicine tray to flick on a soft, overhead light.

It became apparent to Harley that Grandmother Jules was very fond of the color maroon, and all of its red and purple variants. The walls were painted a rich, plum purple, offset by gold accents and an intricate crown molding that was not to be ignored. The bed was four-poster and huge, made of dark cherry wood; Harley wondered if it was even physically possible for Grandmother Jules to get out of it without any assistance.

Harley waited while Grandmother Jules fixed a tired, watery blue gaze on her. "You look just like your Aunt Sara did at your age." She coughed then, a horrible hacking sound that caused Alison to quickly reach her side and adjust the pillows behind her so she could sit up straighter. Alison handed her a tissue and she dabbed at her mouth with a hand that trembled. "Have you met your Aunt Sara?"

Harley shook her head no. Aunt Sara was her mother's sister, and her name was almost never mentioned. In fact, it was something of a taboo subject around the house, and Harley only knew of her from the pictures her mother kept in an old photo album in her bedroom closet.

"I should have figured as much," Grandmother Jules muttered. "Maybe you will. One day. Your father deserves at least to give you that."

Harley felt herself frowning, not knowing what she meant by that.

"And you." Grandmother Jules's eyes moved towards the tall boy towering next to Harley. She stared at him for a long, drawn-out minute. "You have something in your eyes, don't you?" She nodded after a beat. "Alison, have you ever seen eyes so dark?"

Alison looked up from where she was preparing a syringe. "No," she agreed. "But they suit him," she added, ever the optimist, and returned her concentration to her task.

"I suppose they do," Grandmother Jules said, and she was still eyeing him like she was trying to read his thoughts. "And what do you think of Harley, Jack? Your sister."

Jack's brows pulled together and he spoke for the first time since entering the room. "I don't know what you mean."

Grandmother Jules's lips quirked into a self-satisfied smirk, like she knew something nobody else did and she was loathe to be privy to the information. "Of course you don't. Not yet." She shook her head. "The Lord knows what your mother was thinking. She's as blind as a bat," she snorted. Then her demeanor changed, and she rested more comfortably back against the pillows, like all that speaking had exhausted her. "I see your mother couldn't be bothered to spare me five minutes. I'm sure she has a very pretty excuse in the form of some gaudily-wrapped gift. Did you leave it downstairs?"

Harley shook her head, switching her weight to her other foot a bit uncomfortably. "We didn't bring anything... " It was odd now that Harley thought about it. For the past two years they had been bringing gifts. Her mother must have forgotten about it.

"Well! That's new. I suppose it's a relief not to receive more useless junk that'll just gather dust in the cellar."

Harley nodded mutely, not knowing what to say.

Alison finished just in time to save the situation.

"Alright, we're all ready to go," she smiled kindly, offering a small paper cup of pills to Grandmother Jules. The old woman tipped back her head and swallowed the pills without even looking at them, chasing them down with a glass of offered water. Alison took both cups when she was done and then put on a pair of white rubber gloves. She uncapped the needle she had been preparing earlier. Harley watched, transfixed, as the needle slipped beneath the skin of her grandmother's forearm, on the underside, where blue veins ran rampant and crisscrossed each other like the intersecting blue lines of rivers on a map. Grandmother Jules did not even wince.

"What is that for?" Harley heard herself asking.

"When you get to be old like me, Harley," Grandmother Jules said as Alison slowly withdrew the needle, "you will ache in places you did not even know existed. Enjoy your youth," she said, "it is entirely too short lived."

Grandmother Jules heaved a sigh then, the medicine quick to take effect, and addressed the two of them once more. "Now leave me be. There'll be a nice dinner for you prepared downstairs."

Harley nodded, and inched closer to Jack as they began to leave. Alison stayed a moment longer to murmur a few words, and then was following them both out the door.

Harley was the last to leave, turning back to where Grandmother Jules was watching them depart.

"Merry Christmas," she said, smiling a little.

If she smiled back, Harley could not see it.

"Goodbye, Harley."

* * *

Downstairs, Harley and Jack were led to the dining room, where two place mats had been laid, their food covered and kept warm by shiny silver platters. There were wine glasses filled with water. The candles were lit. The thick drapes hiding the floor-to-ceiling windows had been pulled back to reveal the quickly fading light of dusk. Outside, it was snowing.

Harley and Jack's place settings had been arranged directly across from each other, at the far end of the table.

As Harley pulled back her chair, she was suddenly aware of how quiet the room was.

"Do either of you need anything else?" Alison asked.

Harley fidgeted with the napkin over her lap. Jack had already pulled off his platter.

"Will you eat with us?" Harley asked. "It's so quiet in here." Alison looked like she was about to protest, but Harley piped up before she could. "She won't know," she said. "I won't tell."

"I doubt anyone else would either," Jack spoke, and he looked up at her briefly.

Alison sighed. A moment later, she was back with her own place mat and a plate of food—a regular plate, not one of the China ones like Jack and Harley were using, and a plain glass cup.

"Better?" she smiled, and Harley nodded eagerly in agreement. "Isn't this nice? I can't think of anyone I would rather spend Christmas Eve with."

Harley wasn't particularly hungry for whatever reason, and she pushed the thick slices of roasted ham around on her plate. "Do you really mean that?" she heard herself asking.

Alison cocked her head at her. "Of course I do. It's a wonderful treat to have guests in the house. I feel terribly spoiled." She took a bite of cranberry pudding, and Harley left it at that.

Alison kept the conversation going by asking them about school, what kind of things they did in their spare time, and if they'd seen any good movies lately.

After dinner, they retreated to a small sitting room at the back of the house that overlooked the backyard. There was no patio or swimming pool, just a garden with stone pathways, surrounded by a stone wall that only came to waist level. Beyond that, there wasn't a house in sight, only a field with rolling hills, with trees scattered here and there, and the woods farther on beyond them.

The fact that Alison spent a lot of time in here was obvious. She had her books and laptop spread out over the glass coffee table, and there was an array of scattered highlighters and pens and Post-it notes everywhere. There was a chaise and a couch on either side of the coffee table.

Jack took the chaise, and Harley bounded to sit next to Alison on the couch.

"Why are you still studying?" Harley wondered as Alison turned on her laptop for her. "Aren't you already a nurse?"

"I am," the older girl agreed, "but I'm studying for my Master's degree."

"That sounds important."

Alison laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Do you go to school?"

"I have online classes," she explained as she handed Harley her laptop. "That way I can still work here."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

Harley hummed an affirmative, but was quickly distracted by the many games Alison had on her computer.

After a while, Harley got up to use the bathroom, leaving Jack and Alison alone in the study. Alison waited until Harley was gone to close her textbook.

"Jack," she began, and he looked up from his own book, his eyes a little out of focus because he'd been absorbed in his reading for so long.

"Yeah?"

Alison pressed her lips together for a moment, thinking. "You look like you're doing better. Adjusting, I mean. Since last time."

Jack was very still, and slow to answer. "I guess so."

It was quiet for a moment. Alison shifted.

"You really care for her, don't you?"

Jack stared at her, feeling a bit like a deer in the headlights, though his expression remained masked.

"I don't know what you mean." It was the second time he had uttered those words today in relation to Harley.

"I see the way you look at her," Alison said, and her gaze was unwavering. "Everyone sees it except Harley."

Jack was the first to break eye contact, looking to the other side of the room.

"I'm just... I know her parents don't exactly give her the attention or time she needs. And I know you care about her, and I want you to promise me you'll look after her."

Jack didn't say anything. Suddenly the frayed edges of the chaise had become fascinating to him.

"Can you promise me that?" When Jack didn't answer, Alison's whispered "please" sparked something inside him, something that made his heart clench, like the throbbing muscle was suddenly gripped in a tight fist.

He looked up, nodded almost imperceptibly, and then Harley came skipping in and he went back to his book, like nothing had happened at all.

He spent the rest of the night thinking about it as Alison abandoned her studies to teach a very determined Harley how to play Solitaire.

Jack stared at them over the ridge of his book and caught Alison's eye more than once.

* * *

It turned out to be another late night at the office for both Sharon and Nick, and Sharon didn't return until almost eight thirty to pick them up. It was half past nine when they finally arrived home. Harley had fallen asleep next to Jack in the back seat, and he gently nudged her awake as the car slowed to a crawl when Sharon turned onto their street.

Harley was exhausted by the time her and Jack parted their separate ways to their rooms, and as she lay in bed and stared at the ceiling—feeling full from supper and happy to have spent so much time with Alison, and excited for all the presents she would open in the morning—she thought about Grandmother Jules, alone in her bed, and the way she'd said goodbye to Harley, as if she had known that it would be the last time she got to say those words to her.

It was nearing midnight when Harley woke, confused by the sound of a car that sounded like it had just pulled in the driveway. It couldn't have been the snow plows, they never came so late at night, especially since the roads were already clear.

Curious, Harley pulled back her covers and padded downstairs. The Christmas tree in the corner was alight and the multicolored lights twinkled playfully, as if they knew a secret Harley didn't.

She moved to the bay window where she planted her knees on the bench and looked outside. There was, in fact, a car stalled just at the end of the driveway, with just two people inside. She didn't recognize the car, and it definitely wasn't a cab like her father normally took to get to and from work, since her mother almost always used the car. Surely her father wouldn't still be out this late anyway. He was never out this late...

Harley moved closer to the window for a better look, careful not to get too close so her breath wouldn't fog the glass. She could barely make out that two people were kissing, their hands in each other's hair or on a waist, locked in a passionate embrace.

She briefly considered banging her fist against the window to scare them off, but she didn't want to wake up her parents or Jack.

She was about to go back to bed when one of them—the one in the passenger seat—pulled away, saying something brief before opening the door and stepping out.

And the dread that filled Harley was instantaneous, like she'd been shocked by an electric current. The jolt of realization made her heart stop, and she felt as if her lungs had been punctured with a sharp knife, all the air rushing out at once.

As Nick made his way up the driveway, Harley scrambled away from the window. Her legs were jelly as she sprinted up the stairs, and by the time she had closed her door and was sinking beneath her covers, she felt more emotions than an eleven year-old girl should ever have to feel at one time. Anger, hurt, betrayal, fear.

She wondered if the woman in the car was the same woman her father had been with at her gymnastics competition, his "friend from work".

Her father's affair was realer than ever now. On the night of her competition she could only assume, could only put together pieces of the puzzle with the little evidence she had gathered. But Jack's refusal to tell her what he'd seen on that night—and now this, the biggest shred of evidence of all, the kiss—she knew for certain, now. There was no way to delude or convince herself that her father was innocent. She knew the truth and the truth had never hurt so much. Her heart felt as though it had been ripped in half, from top to bottom.

Harley glanced at her bedside clock, where the numbers had just switched to read twelve AM.

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, and with a choked sob she threw her covers over her head and burrowed into her mattress, curling into a ball.

It was the start to the worst Christmas Harley had ever had.

* * *

Her eyes were puffy and red when she woke up the next morning, and she stayed in bed much longer than she normally would have, considering it was Christmas morning. Still, the thought of presents waiting for her under the tree was too tempting to ignore, so it was with slight reluctance that she crawled out of bed and padded down the stairs in red and pink pajamas. When she reached the banister and peered into the living room, everyone was already there.

Jack was sitting on the couch—the one that Cassie had always laid on when she was watching TV—and there were presents piled around him, all unopened. Sharon and Nick were sitting next to each other on the loveseat, smiling and looking happy, like nothing was wrong. Harley had grown so accustomed to that—the happy charade—that normally, she wouldn't think anything of it. She'd think that perhaps they had made up and were fine again. But she knew that was not the case, knew that her mother was in the dark about this and simply didn't know, that she had no idea, and Harley's heart ached for her mother in a way it never had before.

As she descended the staircase, she offered only a small smile and a mumbled, "Merry Christmas", her behavior easily getting passed off as her being tired.

"You slept in late, Harls," her father said. "We were starting to get worried," he teased, and Harley felt a surge of anger go through her, anger at the fact that her father was so happy, happy to carry on this double life behind his family's back, to deceive and put on a happy little charade when he was lying to them all. Harley felt sick to her stomach.

She took a seat next to Jack on the couch where they were separated by the small mountain of presents between them. She felt his eyes on her as she sat, and she knew that he could sense that something was wrong. Still, she didn't indulge him, and Nick was oblivious, talking about something or other as Sharon knelt by the tree to retrieve Harley's presents and bring them to her. The radio on the bookshelf was on, playing nonstop cheery Christmas tunes, and everyone was just so _happy_, even Jack was without his usual scowl and frown, and Harley never would have guessed it was because it was only the third time in thirteen years he had received presents for Christmas.

Sharon smiled. "Jack, why don't you open one of yours first."

And so he did, and the two of them alternated back and forth between opening their gifts. Jack received mostly new clothes since he was growing so fast, and Harley more girly things she didn't really want. The only gift that truly excited her was a face-painting kit, where on the package there was a little girl with a painted unicorn on her cheek, and a rainbow painted on the outside of her wrist. She also received two Lisa Frank spiral-bound notebooks (which she liked to use for drawing), and another Tomagotchi to add to her collection.

That faint, after-Christmas sadness set in once Harley realized she had opened all of her gifts, and the sickness she felt earlier upon first seeing her father now came back full force, now that she was thinking about it and Nick and Sharon were sharing a quick kiss across from her, Nick's hand on her knee, both of them smiling at each other as they pulled away, Harley's hands clenching into tight fists...

Suddenly she was shouting at the top of her lungs.

"_STOP IT_!" Her voice startled everyone, and they all turned to look at her. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" There were tears in her eyes, and she had to will herself not to cry, not to break down in front of everyone before she had even started. She looked at her mother, who had opened her mouth to speak, but as always, Harley beat her to it. "He's cheating on you!" she cried. "I saw him last night kissing somebody in the car, and I know he was kissing her at my competition too!" It didn't matter who 'her' was, only that her father was kissing someone that was not her mother. She turned to Nick next. "Stop acting so happy and pretending!" she shouted. "Stop _lying_ to us and pretending like everything is fine when it's _not_!"

When she finished, she was standing in front of the couch and panting hard. She didn't even remember getting to her feet. There was a sea of wrapping paper and colorful bows tangled around her ankles, and in the aberrant silence that followed her outburst, only Bing Crosby's smooth rendition of 'Silver Bells' filled the room.

Harley's eyes darted back and forth between her parents, gauging their reactions, and surprisingly, it was her father who looked the most shocked. He sat stiff, rigid, and straight-backed, with wide eyes, while Sharon was a little less poised, her shoulders drawn down and her hands folded loosely in her lap. She lowered her head to stare at them, and Harley licked her lips as she waited for a reaction, desperate to know what her mother would say.

Finally, she spoke. "I know, Harley," she said, and only then did she look up.

Harley was too shocked to take notice of the fact that her mother had just addressed her as "Harley" and not "Harleen" for the first time in forever. Her mouth fell open.

"You _know_? What do you mean you know?"

Beside her, Jack shifted uncomfortably. Wrapping paper crinkled. The radio changed to a too-chipper version of 'Jingle Bells'.

"We wanted for things to remain normal..." her mother explained. "We were trying to protect you."

She thought she heard Jack scoff at that, but she couldn't be bothered to turn to him to see. Her knees felt shaky and weak all the sudden. She reached out to put a hand on the armrest of the couch to steady herself.

"How long?" she asked.

Nick and Sharon shared a glance in between them. Her father licked his lips and looked down. "Harley..." he started.

"_How long_?"

Nick sighed. "Two years."

Harley felt all the breath leave her lungs. Two years. _Two years_. Her mind scrambled back in time, searching for evidence she might have missed, some kind of sign—and she realized it was two years ago, her ninth birthday, to be more exact, that she had seen a change in her father. That's when he had started acting happy, that was the year he had gotten her a paint set for her birthday. It was also the start of uncommonly long hours in the courtroom and at the office. Even though he spoke to her more, and spent more time with her when he was home, she saw him less and less. Now it all made sense. He hadn't been working. He'd been with _her_, the redhead.

Tears pricked at her eyes, angry tears, this time, not the sad tears she had cried for her mother last night. Here she had thought her mother had not known, only to find out that Sharon had known this entire time, that she hadn't _done_ anything about it.

She didn't have to ask why to know the reason. Harley was sure it had to do with the press, and what a "field day" this kind of news would make. This was the stuff that crippled political campaigns and brought years of work to its knees.

Harley felt her fists clenching.

"Harley," her mother said, "we just wanted for things to be normal. You weren't supposed to find out like this."

Harley's eyes flashed with anger. "I wasn't supposed to find out at all!" she spat, because she knew that was probably true. She felt her breaths quicken, the blood rush to her face.

"I hate you," she whispered, then looked up. "I hate you both."

Nobody said anything as she took off up the stairs to her room. The door slammed. Harley slumped back against it, crying.

A moment later, there was a knock.

"Go away!"

Harley heard the knob turn, and she had only a second to prepare for the way the door was shoved open, forcing her weight away from the door.

She turned to see Jack entering and closing the door behind him.

He looked at her, and she looked at him, and Harley burst into fresh tears, sitting there on the floor, with her knees pulled against her chest, crying into the valley of her kneecaps.

And Jack sat next to her, silent, and she shuddered when his arms found their way around her.

And it was so funny, funny to her that for the first time in all the time they'd known each other, Jack was the only person in the world she didn't hate.


End file.
